THE  LIBRARY 
OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


It 


THE  STfiUGGLE  FOE  LIFE : 


OB, 


BOARD  COURT  AND  LANGDALE. 


AJ 


TORY     OF     TTOME 


BY 

MISS  LUCRETIA  P.  HALE, 

AUTHOB  OF  "SEVEN  8TOEMY  SUNDAYS,"  "THE  QUEEN  Of  THE  BED  CHESSMEN,"  ETC. 


WITH  AN  INTRODUCTION  BY  REV.  EDWARD  E.  HALE. 


FOURTH  EDITION. 


BOSTON: 
A.  WILLIAMS    AND    COMPANY. 

1868. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  i867,  by 

fc 

A.  WILLIAMS  &  CO., 
la  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


//// 


PREFACE  TO  THE  FOURTH  EDITION. 


THIS  book  attempts  to  illustrate  two  familiar  things, 
which  seem  to  the  author  and  myself  to  require  constant 
illustration,  and,  though  evident  to  all  men,  to  be  very 
often  forgotten.  They  are  certainly  matters  of  the  first 
importance  in  the  daily  life  which  we  are  leading. 

The  first  is  the  contrast  presented  in  the  sad  lines  of 
Miss  Procter  which  follow  this  preface,  and  which  were 
themselves  the  only  preface  to  the  first  editions.  In  the 
charities  of  a  large  city  especially,  this  contrast  forces 
itself  upon  the  attention  at  every  step.  At  the  drawing- 
school  or  social  party  or  evening  dance  of  some  well- 
regulated  chapel,  you  meet  forty  or  fifty  fine  young  men 
and  women,  cheerful,  intelligent,  prosperous,  and  with 
fair  prospects  for  useful  and  happy  life.  After  the  party, 
you  bid  them  good-evening,  and,  going  to  another  section 
of  the  town,  put  yourself  under  the  protection  of  a  police- 
officer,  who  takes  you  through  a  sad  round  of  public 
dance-rooms,  drinking-shops,  and  various  other  offices  of 
lust,  where  you  see  a  hundred  or  two  more  young  men  and 

iii 

1125411 


IV  PREFACE   TO  THE  FOURTH  EDITION. 

•women,  recruited  from  just  the  same  ranks  of  society, 
from  just  the  same  races  of  men,  from  just  the  same  pe 
cuniary  circumstances,  from  which  came  the  young  ladies 
and  gentlemen  from  whom  you  parted  an  hour  before. 
Ten  years  ago,  when  they  were  all  little  children,  those 
of  them  who  grew  up  in  Boston  sat  on  the  same  seats  in 
the  primary  schools.  What  has  made  the  difference  in 
present  fortune  or  in  future  destiny  between  one  of  these 
groups  and  the  other? 

Grant  all  that  any  man  dares  claim  about  the  trans 
mission  of  vicious  and  virtuous  propensities  in  the  blood. 
Grant  all  that  is  demonstrated  so  sadly  about  the  low 
type  of  life,  and  the  weakness  of  the  stock,  from  which 
the  pauper  and  criminal  classes  are  bred.  After  every 
such  concession,  the  general  truth  remains  but  little  af 
fected,  that,  in  such  a  contrast  as  that  I  have  described, 
the  young  persons  who  appear  to  be  successful  and  pros 
perous  have  had  the  watchful  sympathy  and  oversight 
of  personal  friends,  who  had  heart  enough  to  wish  to  take 
care  of  them,  and  wit  enough  to  know  how.  These  two 
requisites  are  more  essential  than  is  money,  which  is, 
however,  a  convenient  auxiliary.  Those  who  are  going 
to  ruin,  on  the  other  hand,  have  had  no  such  friends : 
they  have  grown  up  in  the  rooms,  it  will  not  do  to  say 
in  the  houses,  of  parents  who  have  not  wanted  to  watch 
over  them,  and  have  not  known  how  if  they  wanted  to ; 
or,  probably  enough,  there  has  not  been  even  parental  af- 


PREFACE   TO   THE   FOURTH  EDITION.  V 

fection :  they  have  been  orphans  or  vagrants,  attached 
only  to  some  distant  relative.  Of  the  poorest  stock,  so 
far  as  inherited  capacities  go,  they  who  needed  the  best 
treatment  and  care  get  the  worst,  if  they  get  any.  Yet 
in  such  experiments  as  that  described  in  this  book,  and 
as  are  possible  wherever  there  is  one  person  with  con 
stancy  and  faith  enough  to  carry  the  trial  fairly  through, 
the  result  shows,  as  Miss  Procter's  poem  shows,  what 
might  have  been  in  a  thousand  experiments.  Only  the 
thousand  experiments  cannot  be  tried  by  any  great 
society,  or  in  the  tumult  of  what  people  call  a  "  moment." 
To  take  the  figure  which  Maffei  uses  when  he  speaks  of 
Xavier's  mission  in  Japan :  these  fish  cannot  be  swept 
into  a  net,  they  must  be  caught  by  a  hook  one  by  one. 
And  you  need  about  as  many  fishermen  as  you  have  fish. 
To  any  person  of  either  sex  really  doubting  how  to  be 
of  use  in  the  social  problems  of  our  time,  this  process 
of  saving  from  almost  certain  ruin  a  single  child  of  God 
is  always  open.  The  book  takes  its  title  of  The  Struggle 
for  Life  from  Dr.  Darwin's  celebrated  chapter,  which 
bears  the  same  name.  That  chapter  shows  what  seems 
sad  enough  when  we  think  of  u-ncouscious  vegetables  only, 
—  how,  of  a  thousand  elm-seeds,  all  but  one  die,  and  only 
that  one  struggles  into  the  life  of  the  full-grown  elm. 
The  difference  between  elms  and  men  is,  that  the  souls  of 
men  are  immortal,  and  that  men  are  conscious  of  suffer 
ing  in  the  failure  of  their  struggles  for  a  higher  existence. 


VI  PREFACE  TO  THE  FOURTH  EDITION. 

"We  dare  not  turn  away,  therefore,  from  the  struggle  for 
life  of  a  human  being,  if  it  be  a  struggle  in  which  we 
can  lend  a  hand. 

The  other  point  which  this  book  tries  to  illustrate  is 
a  simple  encouragement  to  a  large  class  of  persons,  who, 
without  knowing  it,  are  doing  an  immense  service  in 
this  world  ;  and  who  ought  to  be  reminded,  were  it  only 
by  the  simple  machinery  of  a  story,  of  the  dignity  and 
amount  of  service  which  they  render.  In  the  last  thirty 
years,  this  country  has  received  from  Ireland  several 
million  of  emigrants.  They  were,  generally  speaking,  the 
most  ignorant,  inefficient,  and  hopeless  representatives 
of  the  most  unsuccessful  tribes  of  that  great  Celtic  race 
of  which  the  general  destiny  has  been,  that  it  has  steadily 
been  driven  to  the  wall  by  the  advances  of  stronger  races. 
These  millions  of  emigrants  arrived  here,  perfectly  un 
acquainted  wLh  the  conditions  of  their  new  life,  and 
equally  unfitted  for  it.  Most  of  them  were  trained  in  the 
humblest  lines  of  life  of  a  semi-barbarous  agricultural 
peasantry.  Their  destiny  here,  in  general,  was  to  live 
and  work  in  the  higher  lines  of  manufacturing,  commer 
cial,  and  domestic  industry.  Never  was  a  more  difficult 
problem  presented  to  any  people  than  was  the  absorption 
of  this  horde  of  untrained  laborers.  Never  has  any 
social  problem  been  wrought  out  with  higher  success. 
The  contrast  is  marvellous  between  the  raw  Irishman 
or  Irish  girl  on  an  emigrant-ship  in  New- York  Harbor, 


PREFACE  TO  THE   FOURTH  EDITION.  vii 

and  the  children  of  the  same  persons,  thirty  years  after, 
in  their  new  home. 

Of  the  transformation  which  works  this  marvel,  the 
credit  is  chiefly  due  to  the  courage  and  the  long-suffering 
of  the  Christian  women  of  America,  who  have  taken  these 
peasants  into  their  houses,  and  trained  them  to  the  re 
quisitions  of  a  higher  social  grade.  No  process  can  be 
conceived  so  admirably  adapted  for  facilitating  the  trans 
plantation  of  a  race.  The  ignorant  domestic  has  learned 
something  every  day,  in  the  home-school,  of  the  methods 
and  the  responsibilities  of  a  new  life.  So  soon  as  she 
has  learned  enough  to  stand  alone,  she  has  left  her  mis 
tress,  who  has  to  enter  again  on  the  same  unending  and 
apparently  thankless  duty.  But,  by  this  constant  process, 
the  great  work  is  accomplished,  which  seems  clearly  to 
have  been  intended  in  the  providence  of  God,  of  the  safe 
absorption  and  regular  uplifting  of  millions  of  an  inferior 
race  into  the  duties  and  dignities  of  American  citizens. 
At  this  moment,  when,  without  the  same  resource,  we 
have  a  like  problem  to  solve,  in  elevating  and  assimilating 
four  millions  of  freedmen  at  the  South,  we  may  well 
render  tribute  to  the  sacrifices,  the  trials,  and  the  energy  of 
half  a  million  homes,  which,  in  thirty  years  past,  have  in 
the  Irish  race  wrought  out  such  a  remarkable  victory. 

In  these  homes,  however,  as  that  victory  has  been 
wrought,  there  have  silently  lived,  suffered,  and  died 
thousands  of  patient  and  faithful  women  \vho  have  dis- 


V1H  PREFACE  TO   THE   FOURTH  EDITION. 

tressed  themselves  daily  with  the  thought  that  the  agonies 
of  household  care  left  them  no  opportunity  to  enter  on  the 
higher  service  of  their  God.  They  have  thought  that 
they  were  unprofitable  servants.  They  have  supposed 
that  the  great  Christian  missions  were  for  others,  but  not 
for  such  as  they.  There  has  been  no  moment  of  vision 
even,  in  which  they  have  seen,  that,  by  just  this  martyr 
dom  of  their  daily  cares,  God  was  educating  a  race,  and, 
in  the  transformation  of  an  inferior  race  into  a  generation 
of  larger  grasp  and  power,  was  working  one  of  the  great 
miracles  of  history.  Such  women  die  and  go  to  their 
account,  supposing  that  here  they  have  been  left  on  one 
side  in  the  arrangements  of  the  Master's  service.  They 
open  their  eyes  upon  the  nobler  spheres  of  another  world 
to  find  ten  cities  assigned  to  them  in  the  calendar  of  its 
service. 

"  Unconscious  Genius,  who  shall  try  to  tell 
Its  blush  before  the  Lord  who  knows  it  well ! 
How  strange  upon  its  ears,  the  great  award,  — 
This  servant's  pound  has  ten  pounds  gained,  0  Lord  !  " 

My  sister  and  I  have  hoped  that  the  lesson  of  this  book 
might  give  some  encouragement  to  those  who  are  strug 
gling  on  in  the  tedious  details  of  such  thankless  duty. 

The  book  has  long  been  out  of  print,  and  a  new  edition 
is  now  published  in  answer  to  a  request  from  the  Ladies 
Commisssion  on  Sunday-school  Libraries. 

EDWARD  E.  HALE. 
SOUTH  CONGREGATIONAL  CHURCH, 
Boston,  Nov.  11,  1867^ 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 
THE  CORNER  OP  THE  STREET 5 

CHAPTER  II. 
MARTHA  AND  MARGIE 13 

CHAPTER  III. 

TWO  INSTEAD   OF   ONE       .      .^7"  ...'.'    .     .        20 

CHAPTER  IV. 
THE  EMIGRATION 27 

CHAPTER  V. 
SETTLING  DOWN 35 

CHAPTER  VI. 
THE  NEIGHBORS 42 

CHAPTER  VII. 

THE  CHILDREN 49 

ix 


X  CONTENTS. 

PAGE. 
CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE  PICNIC 59 

CHAPTER  IX. 
Miss  ELSPETH'S  TROUBLES 68 

CHAPTER  X. 
THE  CIRCUS 75 

CHAPTER  XI. 
ONE  YEAR  GONE 83 

CHAPTER  XII. 
CHANGE  AND  NO  CHANGE 93 

CHAPTER  XIII. 
DISAPPOINTMENT 102 

CHAPTER  XIV. 
THE  RICH  AND  POOR 114 

CHAPTER  XV. 
AN  OLD  FRIEND j.    .    .    122 

CHAPTER  XVI. 
MR.  JASPER 130 

CHAPTER  XVII. 
THE  SEWING-CIRCLE 139 


CONTENTS.  Xi 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 
BEGINNING  OF  SERVICE .    149 

CHAPTER  XIX. 
NEW  DUTIES 158 

CHAPTER  XX. 

MOTHERS  AND  DAUGHTERS 166 

s . 

CHAPTER  XXI. 
A  DAY  AT  THE  CARLTONS 175 

CHAPTER  XXII.. 
A  WEEK    ...........    «~v«*    184 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 
THOSE  BOYS 193 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 
TWILIGHT 202 

CHAPTER  XXV. 
BERTHA'S  ROOM -  .    .    211 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 
CONTEST  AND  PEACE 221 

CHAPTER  XXVII. 
WINTER  TALKS  .  232 


Xll  CONTENTS. 

PAGE. 

CHAPTER  XXVIII. 
A  DEPARTURE 241 

CHAPTER  XXIX. 
A  RETURN 248 

CHAPTER  XXX. 
GOING  AWAY 256 

CHAPTER  XXXI. 
THE  WHIRL  OF  WATERS 264 

CHAPTER  XXXII. 
THE  RIVER'S  BANK 274 

CHAPTER  XXXIII. 
THE  OLD  HAUNTS 283 

CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

A  MEETING .    .    .    295 

CHAPTER  XXXV. 
HOME  AT  LAST  .  '. 300 

CHAPTER  XXXVI. 
AMY'S  LANDSCAPE  .  306 


"  GOD  gave  a  gift  to  earth:— a  child, 
Weak,  innocent,  and  undefiled, 
Opened  its  ignorant  eyes,  and  smiled. 

"  It  lay  so  helpless,  so  forlorn, 
Earth  took  it  coldly,  and  in  scorn, 
Cursing  the  day  when  it  was  born. 

'«  She  gave  it  first  a  tarnished  name 
For  heritage,  a  tainted  fame, 
Then  cradled  it  in  want  and  shame. 

"  All  influence  of  good  or  right, 
All  ray  of  God's  most  holy  light, 
She  curtained  closely  from  its  sight; 

%  "  Then  turned  her  heart,  her  eyes  away, 
Beady  to  look  again,  the  day 
Its  little  feet  began  to  stray. 

"  In  dens  of  guilt  the  baby  played, 
Where  sin,  and  sin  alone,  was  made 
The  law  that  all  around  obeyed. 

"  With  ready  and  obedient  care, 
He  learnt  the  tasks  they  taught  him  there; 
Black  sin  for  lesson,  —  oaths  for  prayer. 

"  Then  Earth  arose,  and  in  her  might 
To  vindicate  her  injured  right, 
Thrust  him  in  deeper  depths  of  night. 

"  Branding  him  with  a  deeper  brand 
Of  shame,  he  could  not  understand, 
The  felon  outcast  of  the  land. 


"  GOD  gave  a  gift  to  earth:  —  a  child, 
Weak,  innocent,  and  undefiled, 
Opened  its  ignorant  eyes,  and  smiled. 


«« And  Earth  received  the  gift,  and  cried 
Her  joy  and  triumph  far  and  wide, 
Till  echo  answered  to  her  pride. 

'•*  She  blessed  the  hour  when  first  he  came 
To  take  the  crown  of  pride  and  fame, 
Wreathed  through  long  ages  for  his  name. 

M  Then  lent  her  utmost  art  and  skill 
To  train  the  supple  mind  and  will, 
And  guard  it  from  a  breath  of  ill 

"  She  strowed  bis  morning  path  with  flowers, 
And  love,  in  tender,  dropping  showers, 
Nourished  the  blue  and  dawning  hours. 

"  She  shed,  in  rainbow  hues  of  light, 
A  halo  round  the  good  and  right, 
To  tempt  and  charm  the  baby's  sight. 

"  And  every  step,  of  work  or  play, 
Was  lit  by  some  such  dazzling  ray, 
Till  morning  brightened  into  day. 

"  And  then  the  world  arose  and  said : 
Let  added  honors  now  be  shed 
On  such  a  noble  heart  and  head ! 

"O  World!    both  gifts  were  pure  and  bright, 
Holy  and  sacred  in  God's  sight:  — 
God  will  judge  them  and  thee  aright." 

A.  A.  PBOCTOE, 

From  Legends  and  Lyric*. 


STRUGGLE    FOR    LIFE 


CHAPTER    I. 

THE   COENER  OP  THE  STREET. 

"PLEASE  give  me  a  few  cents  for  to-night's 
supper !  It's  almost  night  now ;  I  have  been  out 
all  day,  and  it  is  just  a  few  chips  I  have  got  now, 
and  how  shall  I  go  home  ?"  So  pleaded  a  youthful 
voice,  and  so  it  went  on  till  it  drew  the  attention 
of  one  of  the  passers-by. 

The  voice  came  from  a  poorly,  thinly  clad  girl. 
She  wore  an  old  shawl  and  a  short  dress,  which 
displayed  large  feet,  scarcely  covered  by  the  worn- 
out  shoes.  The  whole  dress  was  faded  in  color, 
and  faded,  too,  was  the  thin  face  beneath  the  old 
bonnet.  There  was  no  youth  in  the  face ;  no  room 
for  a  happy  dimple  in  the  cheeks.  Its  expression, 
as  well  as  the  words  which  accompanied  it,  pleaded 
sorely,  and  kindly  Miss  Elspeth  ctfuld  not  help 
stopping  to  answer  it. 

"  It  is  a  cold  night  for  you  to  be  out  in  the 


6  STRUGGLE   FOB  LIFE. 

streets,  child,"  she  said,  as  she  stopped ;  "  haven't 
you  a  warmer  shawl  than  that  ?  " 

"And,  indeed,  I  shouldn't  have  this,  if  it  hadn't 
been  for  the  kind  lady  round  the  corner." 

"  Come"  home  with  me  to  my  house,"  said  Miss 
Elspeth,  "  I  haven't  any  money  to  give  you,  but  I 
may  find  you  something  warmer  to  wear." 

On  the  way,  Miss  Elspeth  asked  Hannah  O'Con 
nor  what  was  her  history,  of  her  family,  and  where 
she  lived.  Hannah  told  her  how  many  children 
there  were,  and  how  her  mother  was  sick,  and  her 
father  couldn't  get  work.  But  Hannah  was 
not  much  of  a  talker,  and  Miss  Elspeth  did  not 
yet  understand  how  it  was  they  were  all  so  poor 
and  must  suffer  so  much,  when  they  reached  her 
own  door. 

She  went  in,  and  leaving  Hannah  in  the  entry, 
she  entered  a  room  that  opened  upon  the  first 
floor.  "  Sister,"  she  said,  a  little  timidly,  as  she 
went  in,  "  I  have  brought  home  a  poor  little  Irish 
girl  I  have  found  in  the  street.  She  is  half  shiver 
ing,  and  poorly  enough  dressed  for  so  cold  a  night; 
she  is  a  pleasant-spoken  child,  and  her  mother  is 
sick  and  all.  Eleven  years  old,  she  says,  but  she 
looks  worn  and  anxious  enough  to  be  twice  that. 
I  have  been  thinking  what  we  could  give  her. 
There  is  that  old  brown  shawl  of  yours,  —  there  is 
some  warmth  in  it  still,  but  I  don't  think  you'll 
ever  wear  it  again.  It  is  not  fit  for  you  to  go  out 
in,  and  eyen  on  a  sick  day — " 


THE  CORNER  OF  THE  STREET.          7 

"  You've  given  away  all  your  own  clothes,  Els 
peth,  and  you  must  come  to  me  now,"  was  the 
answer.  "  A  poor  child  in  the  street !  You  can't 
turn  the  corner  but  what  there's  a  poor  child ; 
and  if  you  were  to  bring  them  all  home,  where  in 
the  world  are  we  going  to  put  them  all?" 

"  While  you  are  thinking  of  that,  I'll  go  up  and 
get  the  shawl,"  answered  Miss  Elspeth. 

"  It's  in  the  right-hand  drawer  of  my  closet," 
said  Miss  Dora,  "the  second  from  the  top.  There's 
a  cloth  with  camphor  lying  over  it,  and  my  best 
shawl  on  top  of  it.  But  you  may  as  well  ask  that 
child  in.  There's  no  need  of  her  freezing  out  in 
the  entry  when  there's  a  good  fire  here." 

Miss  Elspeth  opened  the  door  for  Hannah  to 
enter,  and  placed  a  chair  for  her  by  the  fire. 

As  soon  as  Miss  Dora  set  her  eyes  upon  the 
child,  she  exclaimed, 

"  You've  been  here  before  ?  I  thought  as 
much.  Give  once,  and  you  are  sure  to  have  to 
give  again  !  It's  that  same  child  I  gave  the  petti 
coat  to  last  Monday !  Didn't  I  tell  you  not  to 
come  again  for  a  week,  at  least?  And  here  you 
are  —  " 

"  But  I  asked  her  to  come  now,"  said  Miss 
Elspeth,  "  and  I  did  not  see  her  here  the  other 
day,  you  know ;  and  how  could  I  tell  it  was  the 
same  one?  Poor  child  !  how  can  you  speak  to  her 
that  way  ?  She  looks  forlorn  enough  !  " 

"Well,  go  and  get  the  shawl;  there's  no  need 


8  STRUGGLE   FOB   LIFE. 

of  waiting  any  longer,"  said  Miss  Dora,  "only  I 
advise  you  to  keep  my  best  one  for  next  time  she 
comes.  I  should  like  a  Sunday's  wear  out  of  it 
myself." 

The  girl  had  meanwhile  looked  from  one  to  the 
other, —  a  little  defiantly  at  Miss  Dora,  imploringly 
at  Miss  Elspeth.  She  took  the  seat  towards  which 
Miss  Elspeth  motioned  her,  and  turned  towards 
the  warm,  cheerful  fire.  Miss  Elspeth  left  the 
room. 

Miss  Dora  softened  a  little  towards  the  child,  as 
she  sat  silently  looking  at  her.  There  was  some 
thing  to  her  touching  in  the  contrast  between  the 
disorded,  tattered,  unneat  dress,  and  want  of  dress 
in  the  poor  girl,  and  her  own  carefully  arranged 
garments,  and  the  clean,  prim  order  of  everything 
in  the  room.  Only  the  blaze  of  the  fire  lighted  up 
the  room,  and  this  was  cheerfully  reflected  from 
the  highly  polished  furniture,  from  the  shining 
brass  knobs  on  the  doors,  and  closed  window- 
shutters.  Into  her  complaisance,  at  her  own  com 
fort  and  ease,  there  stole  a  feeling  of  pity  for  the 
poor,  destitute  child,  who  must  be  looking  at  all 
this  unwonted  luxury  with  wonder  and  envy. 

So  when  Miss  Elspeth  came  down  with  the 
shawl,  she  herself  got  up  and  went  to  the  closet, 
and  in  a  few  moments  brought  out  a  little  packet. 

"Here's 'some  tea  for  your  mother;  Elspeth 
said  she  was  sick." 

Hannah  looked  pleased.  *  < 


THE   CORNER   OP   THE   STREET.  9 

"Where  is  it  you  told  me  you  lived?"  asked 
Miss  Elspeth. 

"  In  Board  Court,  going  out  of  Barter  Street. 
It  used  to  be  No.  45,  but  they've  changed  the 
numbers  now." 

"Perhaps  the  neighbors  will  show  me  the  house," 
said  Miss  Elspeth. 

"  There's  three  O'Connors  live  in  Board  Court," 
said  Hannah,  "  and  there's  two  Dennis  O'Connors. 
But  you'll  tell  the  house,  because  the  gate's  off 
the  hinges,  and  there's  a  barrel  by  the  door,  and 
it's  on  the  right-hand  side,  half  way  down  the 
court." 

As  Hannah  left,  Miss  Elspeth  slipped  a  piece  of 
money  into  her  hand.  She  was  hardly  sure  if  it 
was  right,  and  did  not  venture  to  tell  Miss  Dora  of 
it ;  indeed,  she  hardly  ventured  to  think  of  it  her 
self.  She  did  not  think  it  a  good  practice  to  give 
money  to  poor  people  when  she  did  not  know  them 
enough  to  be  able  to  guess  how  it  would  be  used ; 
but  this  poor  girl  looked  very  destitute,  and  the 
night  was  very  cold. 

Directly  came  in  Miss  Dora's  neat  maid,  —  for 
Miss  Dora  took  all  the  charge  of  the  housekeep 
ing, —  and  she  set  the  little  table  with  its  clean 
cloth,  and  she  put  on  the  little  old-fashioned  cups 
and  saucers,  and  the  steaming  teapot.  About  this 
time,  waked  up  Ralph,  the  cat,  who  had  been  fast 
asleep  till  now,  curled  up  in  an  easy-chair,  not  far 
from  the  fire.  In  his  dreams  the  flavor  of  the  tea 


10  STRUGGLE   FOE   LIFE. 

had  reached  him,  and  he  stretched  himself,  and 
prepared  to  beg  for  his  wonted  saucer  of  milk, 
rousing  himself  to  the  duties  of  life. 

Tea-time  passed  along  silently,  for  neither  Miss 
Dora  nor  Miss  Elspeth  were  in  the  habit  of  talking 
at  the  hours  of  meals.  After  the  tea-equipage 
was  taken  away,  Miss  Dora  drew  up  to  the  fire 
with  her  knitting,  and  Miss  Elspeth  seated  herself 
by  her  basket  of  stockings. 

u  Mr.  Coke  called  this  afternoon,"  began  Miss 
Dora. 

"  Does  he  continue  in  the  same  mind  about  the 
house  ?  "  asked  Miss  Elspeth. 

"  They  are  going  to  pull  the  house  down,  and 
Mr.  Badger's  too,  and  the  whole  row.  He  says  he 
told  us  he'd  give  us  till  spring  to  think  about  it; 
and  now  it  wants  a  month  to  spring,  and  they  are 
in  a  hurry  to  go  to  work.  For  my  part,  I'm  sick 
of  Boston.  If  they  are  going  to  pull  down  all  the 
old  houses,  I  don't  care  how  soon  I  leave  it.  The 
old  trees  and  gardens  went  first,  and  now  the 
houses  must  go.  Ours  is  the  last  wooden  house  in 
the  street.  Mr.  Allen's  brick  stores  fill  up  our 
little  dooryard,  and  now  the  house  must  go.  too  !  " 

"  How  pretty  the  dooryard  used  to  be,"  said 
Miss  Elspeth,  "  and  the  strip  of  border  that  led  up 
from  the  gate.  About  this  time  the  earliest  cro 
cuses  would  be  out.  I  remember  one  spring 
they  were  up  quite  as  early  as  tins.  Don't  you 
remember  that  spring  —  " 


THE  CORNER   OP  THE   STREET.  11 

"  I  told  Mr.  Coke,"  interrupted  Miss  Dora,  "  that 
I  didn't  care  how  soon  we  moved ;  if  the  old 
house  was  to  go,  we  might  as  well  leave  it  sooner 
as  later.  He  told  me  of  a  quiet  house  in  Town- 
send  Place.  But  I  told  him  that  they  would  build 
us  up  wherever  we  went,  and  I  would  quite  as 
soon  go  out  of  town  —  " 

"  I'm  glad  you've  come  round  to  that,"  said 
Miss  Elspeth.  "  There's  that  pretty  little  house 
at  Langdale,  near  the  Rothsays  and  Amy.  Amy 
Rothsay  settled  we  should  go  there  long  ago,  you 
know." 

"  I  don't  much  care  where  we  go  now,"  said 
Miss  Dora. 

"  Then  the  rent  is  much  lower  than  we  pay 
here,"  suggested  Miss  Elspeth. 

"Well,  what  does  that  matter?"  answered  Miss 
Dora ;  "  we  have  enough  to  live  upon  comfortably 
as  it  is.  There's  no  necessity  of  scrimping." 

"But  then,  sister,  there's  our  little  plan:  we 
could  afford  to  have  Martha  and  Margie  live  with 
us  out  there." 

"It's  easy  to  say  we'll  have  Martha  and  Margie," 
said  Miss  Dora,  "but  it  means  something  more 
than  to  have  them  live  with  us  through  the  sum 
mer  or  winter.  It  means  that  we  shall  take  care 
of  them,  and  provide  for  them  till  they  can  support 
themselves ;  and  who  knows  if  that  will  ever  be?" 

"  But  if  we  decide  not  to  keep  a  girl,"  inter 
rupted  Miss  Elspeth,  "  but  do  the  work  ourselves, 
we  can  provide  easily  for  more  than  ourselves." 


12  STEUGGLE   FOR  LIFE. 

"  And  what's  to  become  of  Nancy  ?  "  asked  Miss 
Dora. 

"  Why,  Nancy  would  never  go  out  of  town,  you 
know,"  answered  Miss  Elspeth,  "  especially  if  she 
marries  Aaron,  as  she  hinted ;  and  I  was  thinking 
at  tea-time,  since  perhaps  we  couldn't  do  without 
some  help,  why  couldn't  we  take  this  Hannah 
O'Connor  ?  She  is  older  than  Martha  and  Margie, 
and  for  a  year  or  two  till  they  are  old  enough  to 
help  us  —  " 

"  That  comes  of  thinking  at  tea-time,  Elspeth. 
You  always  are  inventing  some  plan  while  you  are 
eating.  It  is  not  healthly  to  eat  and  think  at 
once.  One  thing  at  a  time  is  enough  for  me, 
and  you,  too.  And  pray  don't  say  any  more  of 
Hannah  O'Connor  to-night ;  she  makes  me  think  of 
my  poor  brown  shawl.  How  handsome  it  was 
when  it  was  new !  I  wore  it  to  church  the  first 
day,  and  Mrs.  Brigham  noticed  it." 

"  It  has  worn  well,"  said  Miss  Elspeth. 

"  Yes,  I've  had  it  about  for  a  sick  shawl  many  a 
day,  and  there's  warmth  in  it  yet.  Well,  I  shan't 
lose  sight  of  it,  if  your  Hannah  O'Connor  should  go 
out  with  us  to  Langdale.  Not  that  I  can  think 
seriously  of  that.  How  will  you  ever  get  our 
furniture  into  such  little  rooms  ?  And  how  are  you 
going  to  take  Ralph  into  the  country  ?  The  cat  is 
fond  of  me,  but  more  fond  of  the  house,  I'm  afraid. 
If  you  had  a  procession  of  Irish  girls  to  take  Ralph 
away,  he  would  be  back  the  next  week.  You  know 
we  couldn't  leav^Boston,  on  Ralph's  account." 


CHAPTER    II. 

MARTHA   AND   MARGIE. 

Miss  DORA  was  decidedly  conservative.  She 
loved  Boston  with  an  inflexible  love.  Yet  it  was  the 
Boston  of  her  younger  years  to  which  she  had  al 
ways  clung.  She  loved  the  old  parts  of  the  town.  Its 
narrow  streets,  with  here  and  there  an  old  wooden 
house,  among  its  newer  and  statelier  rows  of  brick 
buildings.  She  loved  even  the  sidewalks,  and  the 
rattle  of  wheels  upon  the  pavements.  She  did  not 
often  venture  into  the  country ;  when  she  did,  she 
complained  of  its  stillness  that  rung  in  her  ears. 
Frank  Rothsay  had  often  said,  Miss  Dora  would 
rather  have  a  brick  tree  than  an  elm  or  oak  oppo 
site  her  window,  any  day.  To  move  Miss  Dora 
out  of  Boston  would  seem  like  moving  the  State 
House  itself. 

But  many  things  had  been  a  long  time  at  work 
upon  these  old  prejudices.  In  spite  of  Miss  Dora's 
remonstrances,  Boston  had  gone  on  enlarging,  —  in 
her  mind,  not  improving.  The  old  wooden  houses 
were  fast  disappearing,  the  quieter  streets  were 
becoming  noisy  thoroughfares,  Miss  Dora  was 


14  STRUGGLE   FOR   LIFE. 

jostled  and  elbowed  at  every  corner,  and  almost 
run  over  in  Washington  Street,  and  there  was  a 
threat  of  making  a  railroad  even  there.  A  large, 
fashionable  shop  was  opened  in  their  own  door 
yard,  and  there  was  a  row  of  carriages  every  day 
in  front  of  her  quiet  windows. 

Miss  Dora's  expressions,  too,  were  always 
stronger  than  her  feelings.  In  spite  of  Miss  Dora's 
strong  words,  Miss  Elspeth,  small  and  meek  as  she 
looked,  had  the  rule  in  the  end.  The  two  Misses 
Elton  had  lived  long  undisturbed  in  the  little  house 
which  seemed  so  exactly  fitted  for  them.  But  an 
inroad  had  been  made,  a  few  years  ago,  upon  their 
peace  when  the  dooryard  had  been  built  upon. 
Their  own  front  door  had  been  opened  upon  the 
street,  and  their  already  little  parlor  had  been  cut 
smaller.  Miss  Dora  had  declared  then  she  would 
leave  Boston,  and  never  set  foot  in  it  again ;  and 
when,  this  spring,  the  landlord  began  to  talk  about 
pulling  down  the  house,  both  Miss  Dora  and  Miss 
Elspeth  listened  more  willingly  to  what  their  friends, 
the  Rothsays,  had  to  urge  about  going  out  to  Lang- 
dale,  to  live  near  them. 

"  As  well  move  there  as  anywhere,"  said  Miss 
Dora,  at  last ;  "  there  won't  be  but  one  more 
move  ! " 

Miss  Elspeth  inclined  to  the  plan  of  moving  out 
of  town,  since  it  might  include  her  favorite  wish  of 
taking  Martha  and  Margie  home  to  live  with  them. 

Many  years  before,  Barbara,  a  favorite  cook,  had 


MARTHA   AND   MARGIE.  15 

left  the  Misses  Elton's  service,  with  the  injudicious 
purpose  of  being  married.  This  was  one  of  the 
unpardonable  sins  with  Miss  Dora ;  and  that  Bar 
bara  should  have  the  folly  to  give  up  a  comfortable 
home  for  the  uncertainties  of  married  life,  shook 
her  faith  in  women.  Barbara  had  married  a  car 
penter  who  was  apparently  getting  on  in  the 
world  ;  but  he  and  his  wife  again  sinned  in  Miss 
Dora's  eyes,  by  leaving  Boston  and  going  to  live 
in  New  York.  Years  passed  on ;  and  after  the 
sickness  of  her  husband,  and  other  troubles,  Bar 
bara  returned  to  Boston,  but  did  not  venture  to 
intrude  her  poverty  upon  Miss  Dora  and  Miss 
Elspeth. 

By  accident  Miss  Elspeth  had  fallen  upon  her. 
One  of  her  neighbors  had  begged  her  to  go  and  see 
a  poor  woman  who  was  struggling  along  with  three 
children  and  a  sick  husband.  Miss  Elspeth  went  to 
the  place  she  was  directed  to,  —  an  out-of-the-way 
court, — 'Tip  some  shackly  wooden  steps.  She 
opened  the  door,  and  in  a  poor-looking  room,  she 
found  Barbara.  She  had  not  expected  to  find  her 
in  the  Mrs.  Smith  who  had  been  recommended  to 
her  charitable  cares. 

Poor  Barbara !  She,  who  had  been  married  from 
Miss  Elspeth's  house  with  some  pomp  and  cere 
mony,  and  had  b»«n  used  to  cooking  dainties  and 
luxuries,  if  she  did  not  share  them,  was  sitting  now 
in  a  forlorn,  unfurnished  room.  She  held  her 
youngest  child  in  her  arms,  and  sat  close  by  a  small 


16  STEUGGLE   FOB  LIFE. 

stove,  scarcely  larger,  Miss  Elspeth  thought,  than 
her  bread-pan. 

Barbara  was  filled  with  wonder  at  seeing  Miss 
Elspeth  again,  and  was  soon  willing  to  tell  over  her 
troubles.  Her  husband  had  just  gone  out  to  find 
work  again,  after  an  attack  of  rheumatic  fever. 
Her  two  girls  were  at  school,  for  she  still  could 
keep  them  decent  enough  for  school.  But,  though 
she  had  gradually  parted  with  all  the  little  treas 
ures  of  housekeeping  she  had  possessed  when  she 
had  married ;  though  the  poor  destitute  room 
showed  only  a  barren  neatness;  yet  Barbara 
seemed  to  think  she  had  quite  a  jewel  left  in  her 
baby.  With  pride,  she  opened  a  drawer  in  a  little 
chest  of  drawers,  that  served  many  purposes,  to 
show  the  little  wardrobe  she  had  managed  to  pre 
pare  for  it.  Miss  Elspeth  was  deeply  moved  when 
she  compared  it  with  one  she  had  seen  a  few  days 
before,  prepared  for  a  little  child  no  more  tender 
and  helpless  than  this  one,  —  its  countless  cambric 
dresses,  flannels,  and  blankets,  with  embroideries 
and  displays  of  knitting, —  all  that  was  rich,  and 
fine,  and  luxurious,  —  presents  from  those  who 
could  give  with  little  personal  sacrifice.  Mrs. 
Smith  showed  the  one  little  white  dress  she  had 
made  of  the  cambric  of  her  own  wedding  dress,  and 
the  blanket  of  coarse  flannel,  in  a  corner  of  which 
she  had  found  time  to  embroider  one  little  sprig. 

This  was  in  the  autumn.  All  through  the  wintei 
Miss  Elspeth  went  to  see  Barbara,  and  care  for 


MARTHA   AND   MARGIE.  17 

her.  One  or  two  visits  had  shown  her  that  Bar 
bara's  strength  was  failing,  and  she  was  dying  from 
the  over-work  and  cares  of  the  few  last  years. 

Before  the  spring  she  died,  and  the  baby  soon 
followed  her.  The  little  baby  went  before  it  was 
old  enough  to  bear  the  long  name  its  father  had 
given  it.  But  Mr.  Smith  married  again,  before  the 
year  was  out,  a  widow  with  three  children.  Here 
was  a  double  enormity  in  Miss  Dora's  eyes ;  and 
the  greater  was  her  pity  for  the  two  little  girls, 
Martha  and  Margie.  Their  stepmother  had  little 
time  to  devote  to  them  if  she  had  the  will,  and  Miss 
Elspeth  often  brought  them  to  spend  days  with 
her,  when  Miss  Dora  was  gradually  won  by  their 
quietness  and  gentleness. 

So  all  through  the  last  winter,  it  had  been  the 
subject  of  Miss  Elspeth's  thoughts,  how  best  she 
could  provide  for  Martha  and  Margie,  and  whether 
it  were  possible  for  her  to  take  them  into  her  own 
household.  Whenever  the  subject  had  been  brought 
up,  Miss  Dora  had  always  said  that  they  could  not 
afford  to  take  care  of  two  children,  especially  since 
Mr.  Coke  had  increased  the  rent  the  last  two  years, 
in  spite  of  his  having  cut  the  house  up  smaller. 
But  now  the  house  itself  was  to  be  left ;  and,  with 
the  great  inroad  of  change  this  event  must  throw 
open,  Miss  Dora  was  willing  to  let  other  innova 
tions  pour  in. 

Amy  Rothsay  came  from  Langdale  with  glowing 
accounts  of  the  little  house  to  let  just  next  to  them. 
2 


18  STRUGGLE   FOR   LIFE. 

All  its  charms  she  brought  out  rapidly  and  vividly 
to  Miss  Dora's  listening  ears.  It  was  not  at  all  a 
desolate  country  place,  with  the  nearest  neighbors 
half  a  mile  off.  There  were  pleasant  people  all 
round, —  cosy  old  Mrs.  Bunce,  the  Lees,  the 
Paxtons,  who  had  a  son  who.  came  home  from  India 
every  year  or  two,  and  brought  home  pretty  things, 
so  that  their  house  was  all  filled  up  with  fascin 
ating  Canton  furniture  and  boxes  and  tables,  and 
all  such,  and  the  Fays,  and  the  Carltons,  and 
then  the  Rothsays — 

"  And  then  the  Rothsays,"  Amy  went  on ;  "  dear 
Miss  Dora,  you  don't  know  what  treasures  the 
Rothsays  are  for  neighbors.  Plere  I  come  in  and 
see  you  once  a  week,  —  mamma  not  oftener  than 
once  a  month,  —  and  papa,  I'm  sure  he  does  not 
come  more  than  once  a  quarter,  to  tell  you  how 
stocks  are,  and  what  has  risen,  and  what  has 
fallen " 

"  Nothing  has  risen,  that  I  know  of,  lately,"  in 
terrupted  Miss  Dora. 

"  Wait  till  you  get  to  Langdale,"  said  Amy ; 
'•'papa  will  stop  and  see  you  every  night  on  his  way 
up  from  the  cars,  and  give  you  the  papers,  and  tell 
you  the  news." 

"  Where  are  we  going  to  find  the  time  to  read 
the  papers?  "  asked  Miss  Dora.  "  Elspeth  is  going 
to  set  up  an  orphan  asylum,  as  far  as  I  can  see. 
You  don't  know  that  we  are  to  be  overrun  with  a1! 
the  poor  children  of  her  acquaintance." 


MARTHA    AXD   MARGIE.  19 

But  Amy  did  know  all  Miss  Elspeth's  plans,  and 
was  deeply  interested  in  them. 

"  Oh.  dear  little  Martha  and  Margie,"  she  said ; 
"  I  shall  be  so  glad  to  have  them  near  us !  Such  a 
notable  little  person  as  little  Martha  is  !  And  what 
large,  grave  black  eyes  Margie  has !  I  remember 
seeing  Martha,  one  day  when  I  was  dining  here, 
help  Nancy  set  the  table,  and  the  little  thing  was 
very  useful,  putting  on  the  forks  and  spoons,  though 
her  eyes  came  up  no  higher  than  the  table.  She's 
a  little  born  housekeeper  !" 

"  She's  just  like  Barbara  in  some  of  her  ways," 
said  Miss  Dora.  "  She  moves  round  just  as  quietly. 
She  was  the  last  person,  Barbara  was,  that  you 
would  ever  have  thought  of  being  romantic  ;  get 
ting  married  and  going  off,  and  having  a  family  of 
children  and  dying ." 

"  Everybody  dies,"  suggested  Amy. 

"  Everybody  does  not  die  of  hard  work,"  said 
Miss  Dora ;  "  and  Barbara,  if  she'd  stayed  here, 
might  be  here  now.  There's  our  Nancy ;  I  don't 
so  much  wonder  at  her.  She  always  had  a  flirty 
air.  I  knew  she  was  fond  of  being  looked  at.  I 
concluded  from  the  first  she  would  marry  some 
time  or  other.  And  now  she's  going!  Everything 
comes  upon  us  all  at  once  !  The  house  is  pulled 
down,  and  Nancy  must  needs  marry ;  and  we're 
going  to  leave  Boston  and  all." 

Miss  Dora  admitted  that  she  was  going  to  leave 
Boston.  This  was  a  great  point  gained. 


CHAPTER    III. 

TWO  INSTEAD  OF  ONE. 

WITH  this  encouragement,  the  house  in  Langdale 
was  visited,  and  preparations  made  for  leaving  the 
Boston  home ;  in  the  midst  of  which,  and  during 
the  frequent  discussions  before  the  final  determina 
tion,  Miss  Elspeth  did  not  neglect  to  inquire  about 
Hannah  O'Connor.  She  found  that  she  was  well 
known  among  her  acquaintance.  Mrs.  Badger,  the 
president  of  the  sewing  circle,  knew  that  she  spent 
her  days  going  about  begging  for  anything  and 
everything ;  that  she  had  a  never-do-wcll  mother, 
and  that  the  father  was  now  in  the  House  of  Cor 
rection  ;  that  they  lived  in  the  lowest  degradation, 
while  it  seemed  hopeless  to  give  them  anything, 
for  money  and  food  and  clothing  were  squandered 
in  the  most  reckless  manner.  Miss  Elspeth  was 
not  dismayed  or  discouraged  by  these  represen 
tations.  Hannah  O'Connor's  moving  face  had  made 
an  appeal  to  her  heart,  and  she  was  not  one  who 
would  forget  it.  The  child  had  made  its  claim  upon 
her,  which  she  could  not  throw  off  with  words 
that  others  would  use.  She  could  not  say  to  her- 


TWO   INSTEAD   OP    ONE.  21 

self,  these  people  are  not  worthy  to  be  helped,  it 
is  no  use  doing  anything  for  them,  what  is  given 
them  is  worse  than  thrown  away  !  Hannah  O'Con 
nor  stood  before  the  eyes  of  her  memory,  and 
would  not  be  moved  away.  Even  if  she  should  go 
hundreds  of  miles  off,"  she  would  know  still  that 
Hannah  O'Connor  was  in  the  world.  She  was  put 
there  to  grow  up  in  it.  And  she  was  growing  up 
in  worse  than  poverty,  in  worse  than  destitution. 
Miss  Elspeth  directly  felt  that  she  was  responsible 
for  her,  the  more  so,  perhaps,  that  no  one  else  was 
sensible  of  the  same  feeling. 

So  one  morning  Miss  Elspeth  and  Amy  Rothsay 
set  forth  for  Board  Court.  They  stopped  at  Mrs. 
Badger's  for  more  particular  directions  than  Han 
nah  had  given.  Miss  Elspeth  confided  to  her 
in  part  her  plans  with  regard  to  Hannah,  if  she 
could  persuade  her  to  leave  her  mother. 

"  It  will  be  a  real  charity,"  said  Mrs.  Badger, 
"  though  when  you've  seen  the  other  children, 
you'll  want  to  take  Bessie  rather  than  Hannah.  I 
never  could  see  much  to  like  in  Hannah  ;  but  Bes 
sie  is  a  pretty  little  child.  She  is  younger  than 
Hannah." 

"  Then  it  would  be  more  important,"  said  Miss 
Elspeth,  "  for  me  to  have  Hannah.  She  is  too  old 
to  stay  in  such  a  home  longer.  By-and-by  it  would 
be  too  late  to  do  her  any  good." 

"  Well,  you  have  not  seen  Bessie,"  said  Mrs. 
Badger.  "  Perhaps  you'll  decide  to  take  them 


22  STEUGGLE  FOE  LIFE. 

both.  I  know  you  won't  have  the  heart  to  leave 
Bessie  behind." 

"What  would  Miss  Dora  say  to  that?"  asked 
Amy,  as  they  walked  on. 

Miss  Elspeth  was  looking  very  thoughtful. 

"  I  know  I  wish  our  house  were  a  little  larger, 
and  things  were  a  little  different,"  continued  Amy. 

"I  am  more  able  for  such  things  than  you,"  said 
Miss  Elspeth. 

They  reached  Board  Court.  It  was  fortunate 
they  had  Mrs.  Badger's  direction  besides  Hannah's, 
for  the  landmarks  she  gave  were  not  decisive ; 
almost  every  gate  in  the  court  was  off  its  hinges, 
and  barrels  were  plenty.  It  was  perhaps  in  the 
forlornest  of  all  the  houses  that  they  found  Mrs. 
O'Connor  was  living.  A  troop  of  noisy  children 
were  playing  in  the  unpaved  dooryard,  across 
which  some  clothes  were  swung  to  dry.  Miss  El 
speth  and  Amy  made  their  way  up  stairs,  through 
dirt,  close  air,  among  noisy  women  and  children, 
into  a  room  that  seemed  at  first  quite  filled. 

Mrs.  O'Connor  lay  upon  the  bed  ill,  and  three  or 
four  of  the  neighbors  had  come  in  to  visit  her  and 
entertain  her.  Hannah  was  in  the  room,  holding 
one  of  the  twins  in  her  arms,  the  other  was  lying 
upon  the  bed.  There  were  two  boys  in  a  .corner 
quarrelling  over  some  marbles.  These  were  "  Steo- 
vie,"  an  older  brother  of  Hannah's,  and  a  friend  of 
his.  Then  there  was  a  smaller  boy  playing  on  the 
floor,  who  was  "  sister's  son "  to  Mrs.  O'Connor. 


TWO   INSTEAD    OF   ONE.  23 

Miss  Elspeth  and  Amy  seated  themselves  in  two 
chairs  that  were  left  vacant  by  two  of  the  neigh 
bors,  who  then  took  their  leave.  Hannah  recog 
nized  Miss  Elspeth.  and  came  forward  to  speak  to 
her,  and  from  behind  Hannah's  dress  peeped  out 
the  little  face  of  Bessie. 

Mrs.  O'Connor  began  a  long  detail  of  her  sorrows 
and  grievances,  of  the  mischances  that  had  befallen 
Dennis,  and  of  her  distress  at  what  she  should  do, 
now  that  he  was  shut  up,  and  cut  off  from  helping 
the  family.  Miss  Elspeth  was  discouraged  by  her 
tone  and  manner.  She  could  see  in  her  whole 
appearance  the  source  of  all  the  wretchedness  of 
the  family.  There  was  a  recklessness  and  a  shift- 
lessness  that  showed  no  desire  for  a  better  position 
in  life,  especially  if  it  required  to  be  worked  for. 

Amy,  meanwhile,  was  making  the  acquaintance 
of  the  baby,  and  presently  of  Bessie.  Bessie  had 
been  very  shy,  but  ventured  at  last  to  come  near 
Amy,  and  to  ask  : 

"  May  I  smell  of  one  posy  ?  " 

Amy  held  in  her  hand  two  or  three  English  vio 
lets,  that  had  been  given  her  as  she  came  into 
town  in  the  morning. 

Amy  drew  Bessie  near  to  her,  and  gave  her  one  of 
the  violets.  Bessie's  eyes  glistened  with  pleasure. 
She  was  a  pretty  child,  when  her  face  could  be  dis 
tinguished  through  the  dusky  veil  that  concealed 
it.  She  had  thick  brown  hair,  and  clear,  trusting 
blue  eyes.  Her  cheeks  glowed,  and  looked  more 


24  STRUGGLE   FOR   LIFE. 

healthy  than  Hannah's.  Amy  longed  to  wash  her 
and  make  her  clean,  and  discover  the  clear  com 
plexion  beneath.  Bessie  was  the  little  pet  of  the 
family,  the  little  favorite  in  Board  Court.  Her 
timid  ways  made  her  shrink  from  playing  with  the 
noisy,  rude  boys  who  seemed  to  people  the  place, 
yet  not  one  of  them  would  have  wished  or  have 
ventured  to  hurt  Bessie.* 

Amy  saw  why  it  was  that  Mrs.  Badger  was  sure  she 
should  want  to  take  Bessie  out  from  such  a  home. 
It  seemed  impossible  to  leave  her  to  struggle  with 
such  wretched  and  hopeless  poverty.  Hannah, 
too,  was  the  useful  member  of  the  family  evidently. 
No  doubt  she  brought  home  every  day,  from  her 
wanderings,  enough,  or  more  than  enough,  to  sup 
port  the  family  for  the  day.  Amy  found  herself 
really  hoping  Miss  Elspeth  might  be  moved  to  take 
Bessie,  even  if  she  left  Hannah  behind.  Hannah 
was  already  used  to  the  discomforts  and  the  hard 
ships  around  her,  while  it  would  be  a  great  pleasure 
to  take  the  little  Bessie  out  into  a  better  home, 
that  seemed  more  fitted  to  cherish  so  attractive 
and  tender  a  child. 

They  walked  away  from  the  house  a  little  while 
in  silence,  when  Amy  exclaimed,  "  That  dear  little 
Bessie,  her  pretty  face  haunts  me  !  " 

"  I  have  been  thinking  of  it.  I  have  been  won 
dering  if  I  should  be  justified  in  taking  her  away 
from  her  mother,"  said  Miss  Elspeth. 

"  But  her  mother,"   said   Amy,  "  could  hardly 


TWO   INSTEAD    OF   ONE.  25 

object  so  much  as  to  have  Hannah  go  away.  Han 
nah  must  be  her  dependence." 

u  Oh,  I  cannot  let  Hannah  stay ! "  said  Miss 
Elspeth,  "  it  would  be  worse  for  her  in  the  midst 
of  such  influences  than  for  Bessie.  Those  lovely 
ways  and  charms  of  Bessie  are  just  what  might 
protect  her  in  such  a  place.  I  am  only  wondering 
whether  I  am  not  wrong  in  taking  away  such  an 
influence  as  hers  is,  from  the  rest  of  her  family.  It 
is  what  makes  even  those  rude  boys  more  gentle." 

"  I  know  it,"  said  Amy.  "  The  boys  in  the  corner 
stopped  quarelling  when  Bessie  went  near  them. 
Bat  it  makes  me  shudder  to  think  of  her  living 
always  in  such  a  home." 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  said  Miss  Elspeth ;  "  if  I  could 
make  sure  it  were  right,  I  don't  know  why  we 
should  not  have  them  both ;  it  might  be  good  for 
Hannah." 

Amy  almost  embraced  Miss  Elspeth  at  the  corner 
of  Hanover  Street. 

"  Oh,  do  take  them  both  !"  she  exclaimed;  "and 
we  will  help  you, — mamma  and  I.  I  will  take  care  of 
all  of  Bessie's  clothes.  I  cannot  bear  to  think  the 
little  thing  should  grow  up  in  such  a  place.  Will 
you  do  it  ?  Only  Miss  Dora  !  " 

"  Only  make  sure  it  is  right,"  said  Miss  Elspeth, 
"  and  Dora  will  see  that  it  is  right,  too." 

"  It's  a  responsibility,"  said  Amy,  fearing  that 
her  eagerness  might  be  bringing  too  much  care 
upon  good  Miss  Elspeth. 


26  STRUGGLE  FOR  LIFE. 

"  There's  more  responsibility  with  a  few  duties 
than  a  great  many,"  said  Miss  Elspeth.  "  One  can 
not  do  more  than  one  can ;  and  it  is  very  easy  to 
do  less." 

"  Everybody  does  not  think  so,"  said  Amy. 
"  Dear  Miss  Elspeth,  it  won't  do  to  tell  Miss  Dora 
where  we  saw  the  brown  shawl." 

"  Wrapped  round  one  of  the  twins,"  said  Miss 
Elspeth,  smiling. 

They  stopped  again  at  Mrs.  Badger's. 

She  was  rejoiced  to  hear  that  Miss  Elspeth 
thought  of  taking  home  the  two  children.  "  I  am 
very  glad,"  she  said.  "  I  have  been  thinking,  while 
you  were  gone,  if  I  could  not  help  you.  Some 
ladies,  some  of  my  friends,  would  agree  with  me,  I 
have  no  doubt,  to  clothe  Bessie  ;  and  Hannah,  too, 
perhaps.  You  ought  not  to  have  the  charge  of  all 
that,  when  you  have  so  much  care  besides." 

"  There'll  be  a  contest,"  said  Amy,  "  I  have  no 
doubt,  as  to  who  shall  do  the  most  to  help  you.  We 
will  try  not  to  stop  in  mere  professions." 


CHAPTER   IV. 

THE   EMIGRATION. 

Miss  ELSPETH  found  no  obstacles  to  her  benevolent 
endeavors.  She  sent  for  Hannah  one  day,  and 
broke  to  her  the  plans  that  were  formed  for  her. 
The  matter  was  easily  decided,  when  Mrs.  O'Con 
nor  willingly  gave  up  both  Hannah  and  Bessie. 
For  Miss  Elspeth  had  already  decided  that  it  would 
be  no  charity  to  Hannah  to  take  her  away  from  her 
home,  while  she  left  Bessie  behind  ;  and  that  it 
would  not  break  off  all  Hannah's  home  ties  if  she 
had  the  child  still  with  her.  Hannah  listened  to 
her  silently.  She  expressed  no  pleasure  or  sorrow 
at  the  proposal. 

Hannah  was  eleven  years  old  now,  but  she  looked 
far  older.  Miss  Elspeth  told  her  she  wanted  her  to 
stay  with  her  five  years.  At  the  end  of  that  time, 
she  would  have  learned  a  great  many  things;  and 
Miss  Elspeth  promised,  then,  to  put  her  in  as  good 
a  condition  as  she  knew  how.  And  she  told  Han 
nah  that  she  might  then  have  her  own  choice  as  to 
where  she  would  go.  Hannah  decided  she  would 
follow  Miss  Elspeth  now.  Five  years  was  an 


28  STRUGGLE   FOR  LIFE. 

unknown  period  of  time  to  her ;  the  home  that  Miss 
Elspeth  offered  her  was  unknown,  too;  and  the 
unknown  was  attractive  to  her.  It  had  always 
been  her  pleasure  to  wander  in  distant  parts  of  the 
town,  in  search  of  something  different  and  new ; 
and  now  it  seemed  as  if  the  world  were  opening 
before  her.  There  was  a  secret  reservation  in  her 
own  heart,  all  the  time,  that  no  one  could  bind  her 
anywhere ;  and  that  whatever  she  promised  Miss 
Elspeth,  or  whatever  allurements  were  offered  her, 
she  could  come  back  again,  any  day,  to  Board  Court. 
Miss  Dora  and  Miss  Elspeth  little  thought,  the  one 
so  satisfied  with  her  own  position,  the  other  filled 
with  pity  of  Hannah's,  that  Hannah  was  looking 
forward  to  a  home  with  them,  only  as  a  variety  to 
her  former  life,  —  as  a  part  of  its  vagrancy.  Yet 
Hannah  was  not  entirely  ungrateful.  She  was 
moved  by  Miss  Elspeth's  benevolence,  but  she 
could  not  appreciate  it.  Young  as  she  was,  she 
had  become  defiant  of  the  world,  and  did  not  trust 
to  any  one's  impulses. 

Miss  Dora,  in  the  midst  of  the  whirl  of  so  great 
a  revolution,  was  unable  to  make  any  protest  against 
her  sister's  benevolence.  In  the  midst  of  such 
change,  in  the  leaving  her  old  home  forever,  all 
other  changes  were  lost.  And  now  that  her  deci 
sion  was  made,  she  was  only  eager  to  carry  it  out. 
She  scarcely  lent  her  ear  to  plans  for  the  children. 
She  was  already  absorbed  in  calculations  whether 
the  old  carpets  would  fit  the  new  rooms ;  in  terror 


THE     EMIGRATION.  29 

lest  the  dear  old-fashioned  furniture  should  be  in 
jured  in  its  passage  out.  She  did  not  go  out 
herself  to  the  new  house,  to  superintend  these 
arrangements ;  she  would  not  go  till  the  very  last 
day.  Miss  Elspeth  did  all.  She  made  measure 
ments  of  the  rooms  of  the  little  house  ;  and  Miss 
Dora,  at  home,  gave  directions  for  the  disposition 
of  everything. 

It  was  agreed  that  Amy  should,  every  day,  have 
a  little  school  for  the  children,  and  teach  them  in 
the  house  for  an  hour  or  two,  until  they  should  be 
old  enough  to  go  to  some  of  the  schools  in  the 
neighborhood.  Mrs.  Badger  and  her  friends  had 
collected  a  complete  little  wardrobe  for  Hannah  and 
Bessie  ;  so  it  was  hoped  that  Miss  Elspeth  might  be 
relieved  from  some  of  the  ca-res  her  benevolence 
had  brought  upon  her. 

It  was  a  fine  day,  the  day  of  the  emigration,  as 
Frank  Rothsay  called  it.  Miss  Elspeth  and  Mar 
tha  and  Margie  went  out  by  the  railroad  in  the 
morning.  Miss  Dora  had  never  consented  to  ride 
,on  a  railroad,  and  refused  on  this  occasion.  The 
Rothsays  were  to  send  their  carryall  and  take  in 
it,  Miss  Dora  and  Hannah  and  Bessie.  Early  in 
the  afternoon,  Frank  Rothsay  appeared  at  Miss 
Dora's  door,  with  the  horse  and  carryall,  to  drive 
her  away.  Hannah  and  Bessie  stood  upon  the  steps 
of  the  house.  Many  were  the  bundles  and  baskets 
that  Miss  Dora  tucked  into  the  corners  of  the  car 
riage.  Grimly  she  told  Hannah  to  get  in  upon  the 


30  STRUGGLE   FOE   LIFE. 

back  seat.  In  the  midst  of  her  preoccupation  and 
busy  thoughts,  she  fancied  she  detected  in  Han 
nah's  face  an  intention  of  running  away  at  the  last 
moment.  Miss  Dora  looked  in  again  upon  the  little 
parlor.  The  last  of  its  household  gods  had  gone  ; 
but  still  there  clung  round  it  some  of  its  old  asso 
ciations.  The  figures  in  the  landscape  papering 
seemed  to  move  in  a  last  farewell.  Miss  Dora 
looked  round  once  more  before  she  closed  the  last 
half  of  the  shutter.  Her  eyes  fell  at  last  on  a  cor 
ner  of  the  room  where  was  a  mutilated  palm-tree, 
beneath  which  sat  a  dismembered  Arab,  over  whose 
head  waved  the  trunk  of  a  bodiless  elephant.  It 
was  where  the  little  parlor  had  been  cut  in  upon  to 
make  the  new  entrance  to  the  house.  Everything 
was  changed  even  there ;  the  old  paper  that  used 
to  seem  so  grand  and  fine  in  her  eyes,  had  been 
dishonored,  and  nearly  destroyed.  She  closed  the 
shutter  and  the  door,  and  was  ready  to  go.  Frank 
had  lifted  little  Bessie  up  to  the  front  seat,  and  was 
encouraging  and  amusing  her  with  some  lively  talk. 
Miss  Dora  sent  the  key  of  the  house  into  the  shop 
at  the  corner,  and  the  carryall  rolled  out  of 
the  street. 

Little  Bessie  was  in  a  state  of  wonderment  and 
delight.  She  had  ridden  once  half  Avay  down  a 
long  street,  in  a  baker's  cart,  and  it  had  been  one 
of  the  eras  of  her  life ;  and  now  she  looked  with  a 
sort  of  terror  upon  the  wild  steed  that  Frank  was 
governing.  It  was  a  slow  old  family  horse,  and 


THE     EMIGRATION.  31 

plodded  along  at  a  respectable  pace.  As  she  went 
on,  Miss  Dora  grew  eloquent  upon  the  inroads  and 
changes  she  saw  in  every  street  they  passed  through. 
As  they  passed  the  Common,  Bessie  almost  hoped 
some  of  her  young  companions  would  see  the  state 
to  which  she  had  arrived ;  while  she  almost  feared 
some  of  the  great  boys  would  snatch  her  out  from 
the  carryall,  if  they  saw  her.  If  they  did,  she 
thought  Frank  would  whip  up  that  splendid  large 
horse,  and  they  would  fly  like  the  wind. 

Frank  began  to  tell  her  what  she  would  see  out 
of  town.  He  asked  her  if  she  had  ever  seen  a  pig, 
and  excited  her  curiosity  greatly  when  he  found 
she  never  had. 

Hannah  was  a  little  perturbed.  The  horse  went 
on  so  slowly,  the  journey  seemed  so  long  to  her 
impatient  mind,  that  she  began  to  fear  she  should 
never  find  her  way  back  if  she  should  ever  want  to 
go  home,  and  looked  on  either  side  frequently,  as 
if  ready  to  jump  out.  Miss  Dora,  who  was  in  con. 
stant  dread  lest  something  should  be  lost  from  the 
carriage,  judiciously  gave  her  the  molasses  jug  to 
hold,  and  presently  her  cap-box.  This  gave  Han 
nah  some  occupation  ;  while  she  herself  held  Ralph, 
the  cat.  Frank  Rothsay,  meanwhile,  exerted  all  his 
powers  of  entertainment  in  various  ways.  He  must 
keep  little  Bessie  from  crying,  if  she  should  think 
of  home  and  the  baby,  and  she  showed  herself  a 
little  inclined  that  way,  and  must  prevent  Hannah 
from  running  away,  and  Miss  Dora  from  turning 


32  STRUGGLE   FOR   LIFE. 

back  to  her  beloved  Boston,  when  they  crossed 
the  Boston  line.  He  looked  round  now  and  then 
uneasily  to  the  back  seat,  in  terror  lest  Miss  Dora, 
Hannah,  and  the  cat,  should  all  have  made  their 
escape  while  his  head  was  turned;  but  no,  the 
journey  was  safely  accomplished,  and  the  carryall 
drew  up  before  the  little  gate,  from  which  a  path 
led  to  the  front  door.  On  the  doorstep  stood  Miss 
Elspeth  and  Mrs.  Rothsay,  and  Arny,  with  Martha 
and  Margie,  came  running  out  to  meet  them.  They 
were  received  with  triumph.  Miss  Dora  was  helped 
out,  Bessie  was  lifted  from  the  carriage,  and  this 
was  gradually  unpacked.  Hannah,  after  she  had 
descended,  walked  towards  the  horse,  looked  upon 
it  contemptuously,  and  said,  "  I  could  have  walked 
sooner."  But  she  applied  herself  directly  to  assist 
the  unpacking,  and  went  with  the  others  to  the 
house. 

Amy  made  Miss  Dora  linger  a  moment  on  the 
step,  to  look  down  into  the  little  garden.  She 
pointed  out  the  crocuses  under  the  window,  the 
violet  roots,  and  the  border,  with  its  edge  of  pinks. 
Miss  Dora  admired  but  little  of  these,  and  then 
hastened  into  the  house.  Before  the  fireplace  her 
own  armchair  was  drawn  up,  and  Miss  Elspeth's 
rocking-chair.  On  the  tall  mantel-piece  stood  the 
old  China  vases,  and  at  either  end,  the  large  sea- 
shells.  In  the  window,  upon  the  road,  stood  the 
little  round  table,  with  its  clawed  legs.  The  old 
sideboard  stood  as  though  it  had  grown  into  its 


THE     EMIGRATION.  33 

niche ;  and  the  antique  mirror  hung  between  the 
windows.  On  the  table,  beneath  it,  were  placed 
the  large  Bible,  Young's  Night  Thoughts,  and  Tay 
lor's  Holy  Living. 

From  the  fireplace  gleamed  a  welcome  blaze. 
Even  the  knitting  was  laid  invitingly  on  the  stool 
by  the  side  of  the  armchair.  Miss  Dora  seated 
herself,  and  folded  her  hands  in  her  lap.  "  The 
Lord  be  praised,"  she  said,  "  we  are  safely  here." 
She  would  not  be  moved  from  her  place  that  night. 
Her  head  was  mazed  by  the  confusions  of  the  day, 
and  its  changes.  Amy  brought  her  a  cup  of  tea ; 
and  in  the  evening,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Kothsay  came  to 
talk  with  her.  She  read  the  Transcript,  and  old 
Mrs.  Berry  had  died  in  Newburyport,  and  Juliana 
Grant  was  married,  and  the  Gobbleby  stocks  were 
realizing.  All  of  which  was  talked  over  as  it  would 
have  been  in  the  old  Boston  home  ;  so  that  Miss 
Dora  herself  was  fairly  surprised,  at  the  evening's 
close,  to  find  she  was  really  in  Langdale,  that  the 
great  step  had  been  taken,  that  she,  Miss  Dora 
Elton,  had  moved  from  Boston. 

Meanwhile,  the  children  had  taken  possession  of 
the  rest  of  the  house  and  the  garden.  They  en 
tered  into  the  spirit  of  change  with  the  delight  of 
children.  Bessie  and  Margie  explored  every  cor 
ner  of  the  house,  and  admired  the  different  doors 
that  led  out  from  it.  They  could  scarcely  be  torn 
away  from  the  corner  of  the  garden  from  which 
they  could  watch  Mrs.  Bunce's  pigs.  But  Frank 
3 


34  STRUGGLE  FOB  LIFE. 

promised  them  he  would  put  a  bench  there  for  them 
some  time,  where  they  might  take  observations  any 
time  of  day.  And  early  in  the  evening,  Amy  and 
Miss  Elspeth  succeeded  in  putting  the  little  colony 
to  rest. 

It  was  one  of  the  first  of  the  spring  days,  —  one 
of  the  days  that  seem  to  be  promise  and  fulfilment 
in  one.  They  are  only  of  promise  ;  for  the  east 
wind  shuts  them  in,  behind  and  before.  But  be 
hind  the  east  wind  is  hidden  the  summer,  and  in 
these  early  spring  days  we  feel  a  little  of  its  breath, 
its  warmth,  and  its  languor,  the  invitation  it  gives 
to  come  out  from  winter  activities,  and  winter  con 
finements,  into  its  soft  lassitude,  and  all  its  offers  of 
freedom. 
>J 


CHAPTER    V. 

SETTLING   DOWN. 

EVERYBODY  said  Miss  Dora  and  Miss  Elspeth 
did  not  know  what  it  was  to  have  a  family  of  chil 
dren' in  the  house,  and  that  before  the  first  week 
would  be  over,  Miss  Dora's  patience  would  be 
worn  out.  Everybody  thought  she  would  find 
living  in  the  country  a  different  thing  from  her 
house  in  town,  where  she  could  buy  what  she 
pleased  for  dinner  at  the  provision  store  at  the 
corner  of  the  street,  where  she  had  neighbors  to 
drop  in  at  any  hour  of  the  day,  and  a  brick  side 
walk  to  walk  to  church  upon.  The  living  without 
any  "help,"  the  depending  upon  an  inconstant 
butcher  once  or  twice  a  week,  and  the  having 
the  care  of  half  a  dozen  poor  children,  —  for  the 
world's  wife  exaggerated  the  size  of  their  fam 
ily, —  all  these  discomforts  united,  it  was  thought, 
would  be  more  than  Miss  Dora  or  Miss  Elspeth 
could  bear. 

But  these  fears  were  without  foundation.  As 
Miss  Dora's  immovable  mind  was  unable  to  grasp 
the  extent  of  the  shock  that  had  come  upon  her 


36  STEUGGLE   FOB  LIFE. 

old  habits,  she  settled  down  into  the  change  as 
quietly  as  she  would  have  done  to  the  coming  of 
the  new  day  in  her  old  home.  There  her  princi 
pal  occupation  had  been  to  provide  for  the  three 
meals  of  the  day,  and  to  keep  her  house  in  order. 
And  these  events  were  still  the  most  important  to 
her. 

Ralph,  the  cat,  had  been  shut  up  the  night 
before,  in  a  room  by  himself.  Frank  had  insisted 
in  bringing  him  out,  that  he  should  be  put  in  a 
basket,  his  head  tied  in  a  bag,  and  his  paws 
greased,  according  to  old  tradition ;  and  the  first 
evening  of  his  arrival,  whenever  he  was  visited  by 
the  children,  he  was  found  busily  cleaning  himself. 
This  occupation,  it  was  supposed,  would  employ 
him  till  he  became  wonted  to  his  new  position,  and 
he  would  be  less  likely  to  take  the  first  oppor 
tunity  to  make  his  way  to  his  old  home. 

It  was  perhaps  the  same  enthralment  of  occupa 
tion  that  held  Miss  Dora.  The  zeal  and  ambition 
of  a  careful  housekeeper  inspired  her,  so  that  she 
forgot  for  a  little  while  the  changes  round  her,  and 
set  herself  to  duties  that  drove  away  all  thought. 

So,  on  the  first  morning  after  her  arrival,  she 
woke  to  the  demands  of  breakfast,  and  a  house  in 
disorder.  She  hastened  to  wake  Hannah  and  her 
corps  dramatique,  and  set  them  in  action.  Miss 
Elspeth  was  roused  to  find  Hannah  nailing  down  a 
carpet,  Martha  sweeping  the  stairs,  and  Margie 
and  Bessie  busy  with  fetching  and  carrying. 


SETTLING     DOWN.  37 

"  There,  now,"  said  Miss  Dora,  '•  I  meant  you 
should  have  slept  an  hour  yet,  you  worked  hard 
enough  yesterday.  I  thought  I  would  set  Hannah 
to  tacking  down  that  carpet;  I  saw  it  wasn't 
finished  yesterday.  I  sent  the  child  in  with  the 
hammer  and  nails,  and  it  took  her  half  an  hour  to 
find  out  she  didn't  know  what  I  meant.  There's 
enough  to  do,  to  be  sure,  but  it  is  a  pity  you 
couldn't  sleep  longer." 

Sleep !  Miss  Elspeth  might  as  easily  have  slept 
in  a  cotton  mill ;  there  was  the  clatter  of  tongues 
and  the  clatter  of  footsteps.  Miss  Dora's  voice 
sounded  above  all,  and  Miss  Elspeth's  noiseless 
will  was  needed.  For,  though  Miss  Dora  was 
wont  to  give  the  loud  word  of  command  and  the 
song  of  victory  at  the  end,  it  was  Miss  Elspeth 
who  led  on  the  silent  attack  upon  the  enemy. 

There  was  china  to  set  up  in  the  very  position 
it-  used  to  stand  in  the  old  house ;  there  were 
stores  to  be  put  away  in  inaccessible  closets ;  old 
furniture,  that  had  just  strength  enough  to  stand, 
to  be  settled  into  new  places.  The  children  had 
to  be  taught  the  names  of  everything.  For  a  long 
time  Hannah  was  sure  to  bring  the  wrong  thing 
when  she  was  told.  Miss  Dora  found  it  very 
difficult  to  teach  her  precisely  the  centre  of  the 
room,  where  the  table  was  to  stand,  and  how  she 
must  always  place  it  in  a  straight  line,  and  how 
the  chairs  had  each  its  particular  position  to 
which  each  one  must  return  whenever  it  had  been 
displaced. 


38  STRUGGLE  FOR  LIFE. 

The  younger  children  enjoyed  this  highly.  Bes 
sie  brandished  high  with  delight  the  candlestick 
she  was  to  carry  into  the  parlor.  Martha,  more 
slowly,  and  with  due  reverence,  bore  along  Miss 
Dora's  old  workbox,  to  set  it  on  the  spider-legged 
table.  Little  Margie  wanted  to  be  useful,  and  was 
laden  with  one  of  the  old  books  that  Miss  Elspeth 
treasured ;  but  she  was  found,  some  time  after, 
sitting  on  the  lower  stair,  gazing  at  one  of  the  old 
pictures  it  contained,  and  spelling  out  its  black 
letters.  Bessie  was  charmed  with  the  tall  peacock- 
feather  dustbrush,  and  waved  it  about,  to  the  great 
danger  of  the  china  ornaments  on  the  dining-room 
mantel-piece,  which  caused  her  dusting  zeal  to  be 
speedily  checked.  Presently,  she  was  heard  cry 
ing  out  for  help.  She  had  tumbled  into  a  high, 
India  clothes-basket,  whose  contents  she  had  been 
investigating. 

"  Lucky  it  wasn't  the  flour  barrel,"  said  Martha. 

Bessie,  indeed,  was  everywhere.  Under  Miss 
Elspeth's  feet  as  she  carried  along  a  high  pile  of 
valuable  china  cups  she  had  been  washing;  upset 
ting  poor  Hannah's  tacks,  as  she  was  nailing  down 
the  last  carpet ;  knocking  over  a  little  stand  in  the 
kitchen,  where  a  pan  of  milk  had  been  incautiously 
placed ;  pulling  the  andirons  out  from  under  the 
little  wood  fire  that  had  been  built  in  the  parlor, 
to  see  if  the  back  legs  had  claws  like  the  front 
ones;  and  at  last  was  found  even  examining  Miss 
Dora's  knitting  that  lay  within  her  reach.  She 


SETTLING     DOWN.  39 

had  an  inquiring  mind,  and  everything  was  new  to 
her;  she  could  not  resist  touching  all  that  she  saw, 
and  tasting  all  that  looked  good  to  eatv  But  every 
body  was  too  busy  to  scold  her,  except  Miss  Dora, 
and  she  scolded  everybody.  Bessie,  too,  kept 
wisely  out  of  Miss  Dora's  way.  At  last,  Miss 
Elspeth  seated  her  by  Margie's  side,  and  bade 
Margie  tell  her  all  about  the  pictures. 

All  day  Hannah  was  kept  busy.  She  was  will 
ing  to  work,  and  did  not  object  to  an  occupation 
new  to  her,  especially  an  occupation  that  sent  her 
from  one  duty  to  another.  It  entertained  her. 
She  was  interested  in  finding  out  why  there  were 
so  many  teapots,  and  so  many  pitchers,  and  such 
different  utensils  for  cooking.  Poor  Hannah's  din 
ner  had  always  been  cooked  in  one  pot ;  and  that 
the  cooking-stove  should  need  so  many  iron  things, 
was  a  mystery  that  was  long  in  being  solved. 
Miss  Dora  was  a  valuable  teacher  for  her  in  this 
way,  for  Miss  Dora  was  fond  of  laying  down  the 
law,  and  liked  to  repeat  her  directions.  She  fol 
lowed  Hannah  round  to  see  if  she  did  what  she 
told  her,  and  to  reproach  her  if  she  failed.  Han 
nah  was  not  dismayed  by  such  an  inexorable  task- 
mistress.  She  had  fancied  she  was  going  into 
bondage  when  she  promised  herself  to  Miss  Els 
peth  for  five  years,  and  she  did  not  think  enough 
to  consider  whether  it  was  harder  than  she  ex 
pected.  She  faithfully  performed  all  that  Miss 
Dora  demanded  of  her,  more  faithfully  than  Miss 


40  STRUGGLE   FOE   LIFE.    * 

Elspeth  had  dared  to  hope.  Miss  Elspeth's  kind 
ness,  indeed,  surprised  Hannah  far  more  than  Miss 
Dora's  inflexibility. 

Hannah  was  happy  in  Bessie's  joy.  Sometimes 
Bessie  wondered  what  Steevie  was  doing,  and  what 
game  "  the  boys "  were  playing  without  her,  but 
her  thoughts  were  so  occupied  with  the  excite 
ments  of  her  new  home,  that  she  had  little  time  to 
recall  what  she  had  left  behind.  "  Meat  for  din 
ner,"  she  whispered  with  wonder  to  Hannah  at 
dinner-time.  Then  there  were  all  the  joys  of  the 
garden,  and  untold  pleasure  there  she  might  look 
forward  to.  She  went  to  sleep  that  night  tired 
out  with  excitement,  her  cheek  flushing,  and  her 
veins  throbbing. 

Hannah  left  her  and  went  down  to  the  garden. 
It  was  the  first  pause  of  the  day,  and  she  stood 
leaning  over  the  garden  gate,  looking  up  and 
down  the  quiet  country  road.  The  first  day  of 
her  bondage  had  passed  away,  and  she  was  free  to 
leave  it  behind  already.  "  She  had  only  to  open  the 
gate  and  walk  down  the  winding  road.  She  would 
not  be  missed  for  awhile ;  she  could  hide  herself 
easily.  But  Hannah  was  already,  in  some  degree, 
fenced  in.  For  there  arc  different  kinds  of  fences, 
those  we  read  of  in  the  tropical  regions,  where 
prickly  cactuses  grow  up  rankly,  and  present  an 
armed  hedge  against  enemies,  and  there  are  bars 
and  bolts  that  shut  in  prisoners,  and  little  rustic- 
fences  that  arc  strong  enough  to  keep  us  civilized 


SETTLING  ~DOWN.  41 

people  out  from  our  neighbor's  garden.  But  none 
of  these  would  have  restrained  Hannah  if  she  had 
felt  determined  to  .go  back  to  her  old  home  and 
haunts.  The  bolts  and  bars  might  have  held  her 
in  a  little  while,  but  she  would  have  only  cher 
ished  more  warmly  behind  them  the  love  of  liberty 
that  they  kept  her  from.  Just  now  she  was 
bounded  by  the  thought  of  the  five  years  for 
which  she  had  promised  herself  to  Miss  Elspeth. 
Nobody  had  commanded  her  to  make  that  promise. 
It  was  her  own  act,  so  it  was  by  her  own  free  will 
she  stayed  there  a  night  longer.  Without  acknowl 
edging  to  herself  its  nature,  somehow  she  was 
unconsciously  bound  by  that  promise.  After  those 
five  years  she  would  do  what  she  pleased.  She 
fancied  before  that  time  she  could  "  run  away," 
and  she  almost  began  to  plan  how  she  could 
accomplish  this.  She  was  eager  to  show  herself 
that  it  might  be  done  any  time,  and  so  she  looked 
wistfully  down  the  road  she  had  come.  They  had 
driven  out  so  slowly  from  Boston,  everything  was 
so  different  here  from  there,  she  began  to  think  it 
would  be  quite  a  long  journey  back.  Still,  she 
knew  she  must  remember  the  way.  So,  instead  of 
thinking  of  the  soft  evening  air,  just  lifting  the 
fresh  leaves  budding  on  the  trees,  or  listening  to 
the  low  twitter  of  the  early  birds,  she  brought 
back  the  remembrance  of  every  stone  upon  the 
way.  Miss  Dora  summoned  her  in.  "  Some  kin 
dlings  for  the  kitchen  fire  to-morrow,  Hannah." 


CHAPTER    VI. 

" 

THE   NEIGHBOES. 

i 

LANGDALE,  though  its  name  sounded  suspiciously 
new,  was  not  one  of  the  modern-made  railroad 
towns.  The  station  lay  at  a  little  distance  from  its 
centre ;  and,  though  the  tide  of  business  was 
sweeping  into  its  quiet  street,  its  houses  still  stood 
with  broad  gardens  all  around  them,  and  old  treqs 
shading  their  dooryards.  It  was  a  pretty  view,  up 
and  down  the  village  street,  from  Miss  Dora's  gate- 
In  the  summer,  the  drooping  branches  of  the  trees 
shaded  more  closely  the  bend  of  the  street  cither 
way.  One  or  two  houses  stood  directly  on  the 
street,  a  little  way  down ;  but  clambering  honey 
suckles  and  trumpet-flowers  hid  their  deep  porches 
and  gave  them  a  secluded  air.  In  one  of  them  was 
a  milliner's  shop,  where  Mrs.  Paxton's  and  Mrs. 
Bunco's  caps  were  made,  and  where  ribbons  might 
be  bought.  Farther  down  the  street,  out  of  sight, 
was  the  post-office,  and  the  old  tavern,  that  used  to 
be  so  much  frequented  before  the  days  of  railroads, 
when  there  was  a  stage  road  directly  through 
Langdalc.  There  was  a  grocery  store  here,  too. 


THE    NEIGHBORS.  43 

that  had  many  attractions.  Crockery  of  various 
patterns,  tumblers,  pewter  toys,  disputed  their 
place  in  the  window,  with  tobacco  pipes  and 
lemons. 

But,  up  the  quiet  street,  in  the  neighborhood  of 
Miss  Dora's  house,  there  were  no  such  tokens  of 
trade.  Mrs.  Paxton's  house  stood  far  back  from 
the  street,  just  below,  and  close  shrubbery  shaded 
it  from  the  public  view.  It  was  pleasant  to  Miss 
Dora  to  visit  so  respectable  a  family.  Tall  borders 
of  box  along  the  flower-beds  showed  how  many 
years  the  flower-garden  had  been  laid  out.  The 
old  trees  looked  down  protectingly  upon  the  house 
that  was  young  when  they  were.  The  gravelled 
walks  were  always  carefully  rolled,  and  the  plaster 
figures  of  Flora,  and  the  gardener's  boy,  were 
kept  thoroughly  clean,  and  frequently  repainted. 

Within  the  house,  everything  wore  a  very  ele 
gant  air.  Every  spring,  whenEleonor  Paxton  came 
home  from  New  York,  the  drawing-rooms  were  re 
opened  and  rearranged ;  and  through  the  summer 
she  presided  there,  dressed  for  callers  that  seldom 
came,  among  the  fine  furniture,  or  looked  at  herself 
in  the  long  mirrors,  or  sat  as  quietly  in  one  of  the 
deep  chairs. 

On  one  side  of  Miss  Dora  lived  Mrs.  Bunco  ;  on 
the  other,  the  Rothsays.  Mrs.  Bunce's  house  was 
small  and  low ;  and  the  little  green  in  front  of  it 
was  not  separated  from  the  street  by  any  fence  or 
paling.  The  green  moss  covered  its  sloping  roof, 


44  STRUGGLE   FOR    LIFE. 

V 

and  woodbine  hid  one  side  of  the  house ;  and  it 
seemed  itself  like  the  natural  growth  of  the  street 
under  the  high  elms.  But  no  moss  grew  in  the 
steps  of  its  owner.  She  was  busy  always,  but 
mostly  iii  her  neighbors'  concerns.  To  this  Miss 
Dora  did  not  object.  She  liked  to  listen  to  Mrs. 
Bunce,  to  get  a  little  peep  into  her  neighbors' 
affairs,  if  she  could  get  it  without  trouble ;  and  she 
had  that  agreeable  complacency  of  respectable 
people,  that  led  her  to  think  that  no  one  could  find 
anything  ill  to  say  about  her.  To  be  sure,  Mrs. 
Bunce  troubled  her  with  some  close  question 
ings  about  her  affairs,  with  regard  to  the  chil 
dren,  for  instance.  "  How  long  did  they  expect  to 
keep  them  ?  Did  Martha  and  Margie's  father  do 
anything  for  them,  etc.?"  Miss  Dora  referred  them 
all  to  Miss  Elspeth's  inscrutability.  "  It's  Elspeth's 
business,"  she  answered,  "  and  I  have  nothing  to 
do  with  it.  She  will  have  to  see,  at  the  end  of  the 
year,  if  the  two  ends  meet." 

"  They  generally  do,"  said  Mrs.  Bunce,  encour 
agingly,  and  went  on  with  her  remarks  upon  the 
neighbors. 

She  did  not  approve  of  Mr.  Jasper's  going  away. 
He  had  been  preaching  for  them  three  years,  and 
she  had  hoped  he  was  settled  for  life.  But  that 
was  a  thing  quite  out  of  fashion  now-a-days.  The 
ministers,  too,  were  all  out  of  health  in  these  times  ; 
she  believed  they  enjoyed  ill-health.  Everybody 
said  that  Mr.  Jasper  needed  the  change,  and  that 


THE    NETGHBOHS.  45 

he  was  wanted  in  the  West,  where  he  was  going. 
She  did  not  believe  he  was  needed  more  than  he 
was  in  Langdale.  "  I  am  sure  they  have  solemni 
ties  and  casualties  enough,  out  West,  to  preach  for 
them !  With  a  steamer  bursting  up  before  my 
windows  every  day,  I'm  sure  I  shouldn't  need  a 
sermon  ! " 

The  affairs  of  the  Rothsays  came  closely  under 
her  notice.  Theirs  was  a  changing  household. 
They  were  so  hospitable  in  their  ways,  that  their 
house  was  open  to  everybody,  and  always  full. 
The  country  aunts  and  cousins  came  there,  because 
it  was  so  convenient  to  go  to  town  from  there  on 
shopping  expeditions.  And  the  city  relations  came 
for  the  country  air.  There  was  such  a  nice  garden 
and  lawn  for  the  children  to  pla}r  in,  and  plenty  of 
fruit  in  the  orchard,  —  pears,  peaches,  and  apples. 
The  invalid  friends  came  there,  because  Amy  cared 
for  them  so  kindly,  forestalled  all  their  wants,  and 
made  the  days  go  by  so  quickly  for  them  ;  and  Mrs. 
Rothsay  knew  so  well  how  to  prepare  little  nice 
things  for  an  invalid's  taste.  Then  the  healthy 
friends  liked  to  go  to  the  Rothsays  because  the 
atmosphere  was  always  bright  and  clear.  Frank 
was  always  full  of  fun,  and  Amy  always  cheerful. 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Rothsay  liked  to  have  the  children  do 
what  they  pleased  ;  and  it  was  a  household  that  did 
not  oppress  with  its  rules  and  forms.  One  of  Mrs. 
Rothsay's  nieces,  last  autumn,  had  been  married 
from  there.  Mrs.  Rothsay  had  been  willing  to  turn 


40  STRUGGLE   FOR  LITE. 

the  house  topsy-turvy  for  a  wedding.  And  she  had 
even  allowed  the  same  rooms  to  serve  for  a  funeral 
ceremony,  because  an  old  aunt,  in  her  last  requests, 
had  begged  to  be  laid  in  the  burying-place  of  the 
town  where  she  was  born. 

'Now  and  then,  some  one  asked  what  Amy  Roth- 
say  did  ?  —  what  her  talents  were  ?  —  why  it  was 
she  was  so  generally  attractive  ?  But  Amy  Roth- 
say  had  never  had  the  time  to  cultivate  what  talents 
she  might  have  possessed.  Her  time  was  broken  up 
in  the  cause  of  other  people.  She  was  the  centre 
spring  in  the  working  of  the  house  ;  she  filled  up 
all  its  missing  links.  She  was  at  hand  whenever 
she  was  called  for,  not  only  in  the  house,  but  in  the 
village.  In  short,  her  work  was  what  comes  under 
the  head  of  "  woman's  work,"  so  indescribable,  so 
undefinable.  She  did  what  the  others  shrunk  from 
doing,  —  the  things  that  nobody  else  wanted  to  do. 
She  filled  the  gap  made  by  those  who  refuse  to 
work,  and  who  are  insufficient  for  their  position. 
And  if  she  had  talents  for  a  higher  vocation,  she 
sacrificed  them  silently,  perhaps  unknowingly,  to 
perform  lower  duties  that  others  should  have  done, 
doing  them  so  quickly  and  graciously  that  they 
became  grand. 

In  Langdale,  the  question  was,  how  Amy  Roth- 
say  could  accomplish  so  much.  And  Mrs.  Bunce 
wondered  where  she  could  find  time  to  teach  Miss 
Elspeth's  children.  For  this  became  a  settled 
arrangement.  Amy  agreed  to  have  a  little  school 


THE     NEIGHBORS.  47 

for  them  for  two  or  three  hours  every  morning. 
She  declared  she  should  make  time  in  this  way ; 
because  if  she  had  a  settled  occupation  every  morn 
ing,  she  should  learn  to  divide  her  time  more 
punctually,  and  know  whether  she  had  any  time  in 
the  day  or  not. 

It  was  an  inexpressible  comfort  to  Miss  Elspeth 
to  have  the  ready  help  of  Amy.  Miss  Dora  was  so 
unsympathizing,  so  discouraging  towards  every 
new  effort,  that  quiet  Miss  Elspeth,  timid  in  her 
ways,  might  often  have  shrunk  from  carrying  out 
what  she  knew  to  be  her  duty,  if  it  had  not  been 
for  the  ready  help  of  her  younger  friend.  Miss 
Dora  was  fond  of  an  institution  only  after  it  had 
become  old  and  established ;  she  did  not  love  it  in 
its  original  sense  of  a  beginning.  Her  life  was 
already  settling  down  into  its  old  habits.  But  one 
of  her  old  habits  had  been  that  of  complaining,  — 
an  indulgence  that  formed  part  of  her  happiness. 
She  fairly  liked  to  complain,  and  threw  out  the 
worst  part  of  her  nature  in  her  complaints.  She 
was  one  of  that  class  of  people  who  never  think  of 
putting  cheerfulness  and  gratitude  in  their  list  of 
virtues.  In  summer,  they  dislike  the  heat,  because 
it  is  oppressive  ;  the  cold,  because  it  is  unseason 
able.  Autumn  always  seems  gloomy  to  them ;  and 
spring  suggests  nothing  but  a  cutting  east  wind  ; 
and  the  winter  is  always  long  and  dreary.  Ill- 
humor  is  a  happy  expression  for  this  disposition  of 
mind,  for  it  is  the  outward  appearance  of  disease 


48  STRUGGLE  FOR  LIFE. 

within.  It  must  be  a  diseased  eye  that  conveys 
only  sad  and  distasteful  scenes ;  a-  diseased  ear, 
that  listens  only  to  discords  ;  and  still  more,  a  dis 
eased  heart  that  dwells  upon  them,  that  doubles 
and  repeats  them  in  complaint.  If  it  were  true  that 
such  evils  predominate  in  the  world  over  the  good, 
then  it  were  surely  the  duty  of  every  one  to  avert, 
or  rather  silently  to  crush  them,  rather  than  to 
reproduce  them  with  their  own  restless  and  uneasy 
complainings.  But  the  truth  is,  it  requires  some 
little  genius  to  find  fault  with  the  year's  changes, 
with  the  wonderful  way  it  passes  through  its  winter 
and  spring,  and  summer  and  autumn,  to  criticise 
day  and  night,  sun,  moon,  and  stars  ;  so  the  idle 
ones  of  the  earth  like  to  take  upon  themselves  this 
duty,  and  will  probably  carry  this  propensity  into  a 
"  new  heavens  "  and  a  "  new  earth." 


CHAPTER     Vii. 

THE    CHILDEEN. 

HANNAH  learned  very  slowly  to  read,  but  Miss 
Dora  found  her  in  time  a  valuable  acquisition  to 
her  housework.  Bessie  was  everybody's  favorite. 
It  was  hard  to  keep  her  still  enough  to  teach 
her  anything,  but  it  was  easy  to  influence  her  by 
example.  Martha,  who  was  so  sedate  and  quiet, 
and  who  was  a  little  older  than  Bessie,  could  take 
better  care  of  her  than  any  one  else.  Little 
Margie  was  a  dreamy  child.  Her  large  eyes  were 
moved  round  in  wonderment  upon  everything,  but 
Bhe  was  easily  pleased  and  easily  cared  for. 

The  garden  was  their  playground,  and  each  of 
the  children  had  a  bit  of  the  border  for  her  own 
private  garden.  Martha  furnished  radishes  from 
hers  before  any  of  the  neighbors  had  raised  them, 
and  flowers  grew  wonderfully  in  Bessie's,  in  spite 
of  a  deal  of  digging  and  the  row  of  sticks  that  she 
had  put  down  to  show  what  she  had  planted. 
Margie  had  a  great  melon  in  her  garden.  Frank 
had  brought  her  some  melon-seeds  which  she  had 
put  into  the  earth  with  a  variety  of  flower  and 
4 


50  STRUGGLE   FOR   LIFE. 

vegetable  seeds,  and  the  melon  had  gained  the 
mastery.  She  was  quite  satisfied  with  this,  and 
spent  her  spare  tim  3  sitting  on  a  stone  by  its  side, 
hoping  some  day  to  see  it  grow. 

Frank  worked,  too,  in  Miss  Elspeth's  garden. 
His  mother's  garden  at  home,  he  eaid,  had  been 
established  so  long  that  it  grew  of  itself,  and  there 
was  not  any  work  left  for  him.  He  was  fond  of 
playing  with  the  children,  and  made  rustic  seats 
for  them  under  the  apple-tree,  and  in  secluded 
corners  of  the  garden.  He  often  brought  George 
Arnold,  too,  who  went  every  day  into  town  with 
him  to  school.  George  was  never  so  active  as 
Frank,  and  he  was  not  a  student,  either ;  but  Amy 
and  Frank  considered  him  a  born  artist.  The 
margins  of  all  his  school-books  were  filled  with 
sketches,  caricatures  of  the  schoolmaster,  and  the 
"  digs "  among  the  boys.  He  often  sketched 
groups  of  the  children,  —  even  stiff  Miss  Elspeth 
came  into  his  pictures,  and  picked  up  a  curve  or  a 
grace  there.  Bessie  never  enjoyed  anything  so 
much  as  to  sit  and  watch  George  while  he  was 
drawing,  while  Frank  told  them  a  story.  They 
would  sit  on  the  doorsteps,  Frank  whittling,  Amy 
and  Martha  sewing,  and  Margie,  with  her  doll  in 
her  lap,  looking  earnestly  into  Frank's  face,  as  he 
told  some  wonderful  tale. 

Miss  Elspeth  sometimes  persuaded  Miss  Dora  to 
let  Hannah  sit  upon  the  doorstep  with  her  work, 
but  more  often  Hannah  would  prefer  to  go  on  with 


THE    CHILDREN.  51 

her  dusting  and  sweeping  of  the  parlor  or  dining- 
room,  stopping  now  and  then  with  her  brush  at 
tbe  window,  to  listen  to  the  climax  of  the  story. 
George  and  Frank  were  fond  of  playing  with  and 
amusing  the  children ;  but  every  day,  almost,  they 
went  oif  on  some  long  expedition  of  their  own,  and 
then  came  Bessie's  time  of  trouble.  She  did  not 
like  the  regular  school-hours;  she  did  not  like 
anything  regular,  and  was  every  day  tempted  out 
after  the  butterflies.  Miss  Dora  was  shocked  at 
her  very  thinking  of  going  off  with  the  boys. 
Amy  took  the  children  almost  every  day  to  walk, 
and  soon  they  learned  their  way  to  a  pretty  grove 
not  far  away,  where  they  were  allowed  to  play  at 
times. 

Miss  Elspeth  had  promised  Hannah  that  she 
should  have  frequent  intelligence  of  her  family, 
and  Mrs.  Badger  agreed  to  go  often  to  see  Mrs. 
O'Connor.  The  first  news  served  to  diminish 
Hannah's  interest  in  home  affairs.  Steevie  had 
disappeared.  The  very  day  after  Hannah  went 
away,  he  had  left  home  with  the  vague  words 
about  never  being  seen  again.  The  next  intelli 
gence  was  that  Mrs.  O'Connor  herself  was  in  the 
House  of  Correction.  One  of  the  poor  twins  had 
died,  and  Mrs.  Badger  had  found  some  one  to 
adopt  the  other,  and  Mrs.  O'Connor's  "  sister's 
son  "  had  been  sent  to  a  farmer  in  the  country. 
Hannah  received  quietly  all  tins  account  of  the 
family  and  the  breaking  up  of  the  establishment  at 


52  STRUGGLE   FOR   LIFE. 

Board  Court.  She  made  some  exclamations  when 
she  heard  of  Steevie's  departure,  and  again  to 
Miss  Elspeth,  when  she  heard  that  nothing  more 
was  known  of  him.  In  the  evening,  when  Amy 
went  to  see  her  and  asked  her  some  questions 
about  it,  she  burst  into  tears.  It  was  the  first 
time  she  had  been  moved  about  anything.  "  Oh  ! 
Miss  Amy,"  she  said,  presently,  "  I  loved  Steevie 
better  than  anybody.  How  could  he  ever  go 
away  without  coming  to  let  me  know,  —  without 
coming  to  see  me  and  Bessie  !  Will  I  never  know 
where  he  has  gone  ?  Oh  !  Miss  Amy,  isn't  there  a 
hope  if  I  followed  him  out  into  the  wide  world  I 
could  find  him  ?  " 

"  He  knows  where  you  are,  Hannah ;  he  will 
come  to  find  you,  perhaps,"  said  Amy,  comfortingly. 

"  Oh  I  Miss  Amy,  if  he  could  only  be  taught 
well,  he  might  learn  to  be  a  good  boy.  I  had  been 
thinking,  that  when  I  got  old  enough,  I  would 
teach  him  something.  Such  bad  ways  as  he  has 
been  living  in !  I  know  it  now,  I  didn't  know  it 
before.  And  perhaps  he  is  going  on  to  worse. 
Oh  !  I  would  rather  be  back  on  the  cold  stones  in 
Boston  than  lose  Steevie.  I  can't  bear  to  stay 
here  the  night  through,  and  think  of  him  away." 

"  But  you  could  not  find  him,"  said  Arny,  "  if  you 
went  out  to  look  for  him  ;  "  and  Hannah,  you  can't 
leave  Bessie  behind.  Think  how  she  needs  you, 
and  how  much  you  do  for  her  ! " 

"  There's  plenty  to  love  Bessie,"  said  Hannah ; 


THE    CHILDEEN.  53 

"I  think  it  was  because  Steevie  loved  Bessie  so, 
that  he  must  go  away  from  home  when  she  was 
not  there.  What  with  me  gone,  —  and  I  used  to 
bring  something  home  every  day  for  them  to  eat, — 
and  Bessie  gone,  too,  who  used  to  make  them 
laugh, — no  wonder  that  Steevie  couldn't  stay.  Miss 
Amy,  is  it  doing  good,  what  Miss  Elspeth  has  done, 
to  send  him  away  from  his  own  home  ?  " 

"  Miss  Elspeth  has  done  you  good  and  Bessie," 
said  Amy,  "  and  you  could  none  of  you  have  stayed 
at  home  when  your  mother  was  taken  away.  Per 
haps,  sometime,  you'll  be  able  to  do  Steevie  a 
great  good  if  you  take  care  of  yourself  and  Bessie 
too." 

"  The  world  is  very  large  out  there,  isn't  it  ?  " 
said  Hannah,  pointing  up  the  street. 

"  Don't  think  of  going  into  it,"  said  Amy,  anx 
iously  ;  "  we  will  all  do  our  best  to  find  Steevie, 
and  you  could  never  find  him  alone  by  your 
self." 

Hannah  stood  awhile  thoughtfully,  and  then 
broke  off  the  conversation,  saying,  "  Miss  Dora'll 
be  calling  me  in  to  fill  the  water  pitchers,  and  it's 
late."  : 

It  was  by  no  means  a  smooth  stream  in  Miss 
Dora's  household.  Hannah's  and  Bessie's  ignor 
ance  of  right  and  wrong  frequently  upset  the  tenor 
of  its  ways.  Martha  was  perhaps  over-conscien 
tious  for  so  young  a  girl.  Margie  led  such  a 
dreamy  life,  she  was  willing  its  outer  actions 


54  STRUGGLE   FOR   LIFE. 

should  be  ordered  by  others,  but  often  she  was 
shocked,  as  well  as  Martha,  by  Bessie's  quick 
impulses.  From  the  beginning  there  had  been 
great  trouble  in  checking  Bessie's  fondness  for 
helping  herself  to  anything  she  fancied.  With  all 
Miss  Dora's  watchfulness,  there  were  wonderful 
disappearances  from  her  stores.  Bessie  was  the 
suspected  one  at  first,  but  it  was  found  that 
Hannah  must  share  the  blame  with  her.  Miss 
Elspeth  was  sorely  troubled  at  this  discovery: 
There  was  some  excuse  for  these  two  children, 
for,  coming  into  what  appeared  to  them  a  land  of 
plenty  and  liberality,  they  could  not  understand 
why  they  should  be  checked  in  this  way.  So,  at 
least,  Bessie  pleaded  ;  "  Miss  Elspeth  let  her  eat  as 
much  bread  and  milk  as  she  pleased  at  meal  times, 
and  what  harm  was  there  in  eating  a  little  more 
when  she  chose?"  Miss  Elspeth  told  her  she 
gave  her  as  much  as  was  best  for  her  when  she 
ate  her  meals,  and  tried  to  teach  her  the  laws  of 
"  mine  and  thine."  She  had  help  from  Martha  in 
teaching  Bessie  what  it  was  to  tell  a  lie,  or  to  take 
what  did  not  belong  to  her. 

Martha  was  ver$  much  shocked  at  the  discovery 
of  these  derelictions  of  Bessie.  One  day,  after 
school,  while  the  children  were  playing  in  their 
favorite  corner  of  the  garden,  Bessie  went  into  the 
house.  She  came  back  with  a  very  mysterious 
air,  with  something  hid  in  her  apron. 
•  "I've  brought  something  for  a  feast,"  she  ex- 


THE    CHILDREN.  55 

claimed ;  "  it's  some  of  Miss  Dora's  fresh  sponge 
cake." 

"  Oh !  how  good  of  Miss  Dora,"  cried  Martha  ; 
"  did  she  give  it  to  you  ?  " 

"  See  how  nice  it  looks,"  said  Bessie,  as  she 
unfolded  her  apron. 

"  But  did  Miss  Dora  give  it  to  you  ? "  asked 
Martha,  anxiously ;  "  Oh  !  she  never  would  have 
given  us  so  much  of  her  nice  cake.  Bessie,  I'm 
afraid  you  took  it." 

"  "Well,  I  did,"  said  Bessie,  "  only  Miss  Dora  will 
never  find  out.  It  was  all  done  up  in  a  basket  for 
Hannah  to  take  to  Mrs.  Fay,  when  she  goes  down 
street.  I  got  a  knife  and  cut  this  off,  and  Mrs. 
Fay  won't  know  how  big  the  piece  was." 

"  0  Bessie,  you  would  not  want  to  steal,  and 
from  Miss  Dora,  too  ! "  exclaimed  Martha,  taking 
the  cake  out  of  Bessie's  hands  5  "  I'll  take  it  back 
to  Miss  Elspeth,  and  she  will  put  it  into  the  basket 
again." 

"  I  thought  you'd  like  to  have  the  cake,"  said 
Bessie,  beginning  to  cry. 

"  0  Bessie,  I'd  rather  never  eat  any  cake,  or 
anything,  than  steal,"  said  Martha. 

"  Miss  Dora  read  in  the  paper,"  said  Margie, 
"  about  a  boy  that  was  put  in  prison  because  he 
stole." 

"  Oh,  but  he  stole  a  whole  houseful  of  things," 
said  Bessie,  "  and  this  is  nothing  but  a  piece  of 
cake." 


56  STRUGGLE   FOR   LIFE. 

"  That  does  not  make  the  difference,"  said  Mar 
tha  ;  "  I  think  if  anybody  stole  your  pink,  your 
pretty  pink,  you  would  think  it  was  a  very 
naughty  thing,  and  it's  only  a  flower,  and  did  not 
cost  you  so  much  trouble  as  it  did  Miss  Dora  to 
make  this  cake." 

"  I  guess  if  anybody  stole  my  melon,"  said  Mar 
gie,  "  if  I  had  one,  and  it  came  ripe,  I'd  like  to 
have  him  put  in  the  State's  Prison." 

"  Well,  then,"  said  Bessie,  angrily,  "  take  it  back 
to  Miss  Dora,  and  tell  her  all  about  it,  and  have 
me  scolded  and  punished.  At  home,  if  I  had  got 
it  for  Steevie,  he'd  have  been  glad,  and  have  taken 
it  and  have  eaten  it." 

Martha  stopped,  doubtfully.  "I  wish  yon  would 
take  it  back  yourself,  Bessie,"  she  said. 

"You  won't  persuade  me,  — "  began  Bessie, 
but  she  was  interrupted  by  the  appearance  of 
Hannah.  She  had  been  weeding  the  peas  at  a 
little  distance,  and  had  heard  the  whole  conver 
sation. 

"  Give  me  the  cake,"  she  said,  "  and  I'll  put  it 
back  without  telling  anybody,  and  nobody  will 
ever  know." 

Martha  gave  it  up  reluctantly.  It  was  wrong 
not  to  tell  Miss  Dora,  or  at  least,  Miss  Elspeth,  she 
thought,  but  she  could  not  bear  to  have  Bessie 
scolded,  so  she  let  it  go. 

That  evening  Hannah  was  leaning  in  her  favor 
ite  place  over  the  gateway.  Amy  stopped  to  talk 


THE    CHILDREN.  57 

with  her,  as  she  liked  to  do  at  such  times.  She 
wanted  Hannah  to  talk  more, — Hannah  was  so 
quiet  always.  She  had  often  a  sulky  air,  but  at 
this  hour  she  seemed  more  approachable.  This 
evening,  Hannah  told  her  directly  the  talk  of  the 
children,  which  she  had  overheard  in  the  garden. 

"  I  think,"  said  Amy,  when  she  had  done,  "  that 
you  had  better  have  talked  with  Bessie  a  little 
about  it,  and  told  her  how  wrong  it  was  to  take 
even  a  little  thing  that  is  not  her  own,  and  asked 
her  to  tell  Miss  Dora  about  it." 

"  Martha  wanted  her  to  tell  about  it,"  said 
Hannah. 

"  And  you  said  nothing  of  it,"  said  Amy.  "  I 
wish  you  would  tell  Bessie  to  speak  of  it;  it  would 
be  a  lesson  for  her.  You  might  do  her  a  great 
deal  of  good." 

"  I !  Miss  Amy,"  exclaimed  Hannah,  "  how  could 
I  tell  her,  when  I  am  often  doing  just  the  same  ?  " 

Amy  saw  the  confession  was  a  difficult  one  for 
Hannah  to  make.  "  The  best  wa}7,"  she  said, 
"  would  be  to  tell  Bessie  that  you  see  that  it  is 
wrong,  and  that  you  do  not  mean  to  do  such  things 
any  more,  a'nd  that  you  want  to  teach  her  the 
right." 

"  It's  a  little  thing,  —  it's  such  a  very  little 
thing,"  said  Hannah. 

"  Then  it  must  be  a  little  thing  to  keep  from 
doing ;  but  by  and  by,  if  you  have  taught  yourself 
to  take  little  things  that  don't  belong  to  you,  you 


58  STRUGGLE   FOB  LIFE. 

won't  know  when  to  stop.  If  here,  where  you 
have  plenty  to  eat,  yon  are  in  the  way  of  taking 
what  does  not  belong  to  you,  what  would  happen 
if  you  ever  really  needed  it  ?  That  poor  boy  that 
was  taken  up  for  stealing  was  very  destitute. 
He  stole  all  that  silver,  very  likely,  just  to  got 
something  to  eat." 

"  Oh !  don't  speak  of  that  boy,  said  Hannah, 
seizing  Amy's  arm,  "  for  I  thought  of  Steevie.  I 
know  it  isn't  he  ;  but  then,  where  is  he  ?  " 

She  looked  anxiously  up  the  road,  and  after  a 
moment,  she  said,  "  It's  hard  to  live,  Miss  Amy, 
isn't  it?  I  did  not  think  it  would  be  so.  I 
thought,  if  I  only  grew  up,  it  would  be  easy 
enough.  There  are  so  many  rules  and  laws.  Miss 
Dora  talks  so  much  about  speaking  the  truth,  and 
Martha  about  stealing.  In  Board  Court  we  didn't 
trouble  ourselves  much,  any  way.  We  did  not 
live  very  happily.  They  used  to  quarrel  some 
times,  and  then  the  boys  would  fight ;  but  we  did 
not  have  to  think  what  would  come  the  next  day. 
That's  what  troubles  me,  Miss  Amy.  I  don't  like 
to  sweep  and  wash  and  work,  but  I'm  willing  to 
do  it  all  day  long,  rather  than  think  what  we'll  all 
do,  and  what  we'll  all  come  to." 

"  Miss  Dora  and  Miss  Elspeth  are  taking  care  of 
you  now,"  said  Amy;  "you  have  only  to  think 
how  you'll  please  them  best." 

Hannah  assented,  and  gloomily  promised  to 
speak  to  Bessie  before  she  went  to  sleep. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

THE    PICNIC. 

THERE  came  a  lovely  day  in  the  course  of  the 
summer.  There  had  been  heavy  rains  for  a  few 
days,  and  all  the  grass  and  trees  were  refreshed, 
and  the  air  was  soft  and  delicious.  Before  Miss 
Dora's  gate  stood  a  carryall  and  an  open  wagon ; 
and  on  the  doorsteps  were  baskets  covered  with 
napkins.  And  the  younger  children  were  jumping 
up  and  down  the  steps,  and  dancing  through  the 
alleys  with  delight.  There  was  so  much  excite 
ment  going  on,  that  Mrs.  Bunco  could  not  resist 
putting  her  cape  bonnet  on,  and  going  over  to 
see  what  was  happening. 

u  "\ye're  au  going  on  a  picnic,"  said  Amy,  who 
stood  by  the  gate. 

"  We're  going  to  pick  whortleberries,"  exclaimed 
Bessie.  "  And  we're  going  to  take  our  dinner," 
said  Margie,  quite  moved.  "  And  Miss  Dora  and 
Miss  Elspeth  are  going,  too,"  said  Amy. 

"  Miss  Dora  going  to  a  picnic  !  I  should  as  soon 
think  of  the  steeple's  going ! "  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Bunce. 


60  STRUGGLE  FOR  LIFE. 

"  And  we  children  are  going  in  the  open  wagon, 
with  Amy  and  Frank,  and  George,  if  we' can  only 
stow  in,"  said  Martha. 

Frank  and  Amy  had  planned  the  picnic  for  the 
children.  When  Amy  proposed  it  to  Hannah,  she 
demurred ;  she  did  not  think  Miss  Dora  would 
want  her  to  leave,  and  she  could  not  go  unless  Miss 
Dora  did.  "  We  will  make  Miss  Dora  go,"  said 
Amy,  suddenly ;  and  she  ran  home  and  persuaded 
her  father  to  give  up  one  day  of  business  and  town, 
and  go  to  the  picnic.  She  came  back  triumphantly 
with  him,  and  Mr.  Rothsay  went  into  the  house  to 
invite  Miss  Dora  and  Miss  Elspeth  to  go  too. 

"  I  never  like  picnics,"  said  Miss  Dora,  discour- 
agingly.  "  I  don't  like  sitting  on  stumps  and  rocks ; 
and  as  for  sitting  on  the  ground,  it  reminds  me 
always  of  when  I  shall  lie  under  it." 

"Oh,  that's  dreadful!"  exclaimed  Amy;  "but 
we  will  take  you  a  chair.  We  will  carry  one  of  our 
straw  armchairs  in  the  back  of  the  wagon.  Frank 
and  George  can  fix  that,  if  that's  all." 

There  were  a  great  many  other  objections ;  but 
Amy  had  smoothed  them  off,  and  Miss  Elspeth 
helped  to  remove  them  too.  "  You  don't  mind  sit. 
ting  on  a  rock,  Miss  Elspeth,  do  you  ?  "  said  Amy  ; 
"  and  we  can  take  out  the  carriage  cushions,  too,  for 
you  to  sit  on.  And  you  will  admire  the  glen." 

"  Oh,  a  glen  !  "  exclaimed  Miss  Dora.  "  I  don't 
like  glens ;  I  shall  be  sure  to  tumble  in,  and  you  all 
will.  How  can  you  take  the  children  there  ?  " 


•  THE   PICNIC.  61 

"  But  this  is  a  very  mild  glen,"  answered  Amy. 
"  It's  none  of  your  White  Mountain  ones.  We  don't 
have  such  in  these  civilized  regions.  It's  the 
easiest  place  to  get  at  you  can  imagined 

So  the  whole  household  were  to  go.  Miss  Dora 
packed  up  plates,  knives,  and  forks.  She  said  she 
did  not  like  eating  with  her  fingers,  nor  using  green 
leaves  for  plates.  If  the  rest  wanted  to  be  so 
romantic,  they  might ;  but,  at  any  rate,  they  should 
have  the  choice  of  a  china  plate.  Hannah  chopped 
ham  with  vigor ;  and  Martha  spread  the  bread  for 
sandwiches.  Bessie  tried  to  pack  up  Ralph  in  a 
basket,  to  take  too,  but  Miss  Dora  would  not  allow 
that.  "Ralph  wouldn't  enjoy  a  picnic!"  Mrs. 
Bunco  was  astonished.  "  What  would  Eleonora 
Paxton  say  ?  The  Irish  girls  are  going  to  the  pic- 
nic,  too! " 

"  I'm  glad  if  it  will  amuse  her,"  laughed  Amy. 
"  Poor  Nora  does  not  have  much  to  entertain  her." 

Mr.  Rothsay  drove  off  in  the  carryall  with  Mar 
gie,  who  was  a  little  afraid  of  the  wagon  ;  and  the 
rest  of  the  children,  with  Amy,  Frank,  and  George, 
and  Amy's  friend,  Bertha  Carlton,  were  packed  into 
its  seats.  Frank  sat  behind  in  the  straw  chair 
..  devoted  to  Miss  Dora,  and  George  drove  the  two 
horses.  Bertha  Carlton's  seat  was  made  as  com 
fortable  as  possible,  for  she  was  fragile  and  deli 
cate,  and  Amy  was  anxious  not  to  tire  her.  She 
was  older  than  Amy,  and  an  early  school  friend  of 
hers.  She  had  a  clear,  transparent  complexion, 


62  STRUGGLE  FOR  LIFE. 

and  blue  eyes  full  of  thought,  with  soft,  gentle 
manners,  and  a  low  voice. 

The  party  were  very  merry  in  the  wagon. 
Martha  and  Bessie  were  wild  with  delight  at  the 
cows  in  the  meadows,  the  haymakers  in  the  fields, 
at  the  busy  farmhouses,  and  the  birds  in  the  trees. 
Frank  pointed  out  to  them  every  creeping  and 
flying  thing  they  passed,  and  told  all  sorts  of 
strange  stories  about  all  they  saw.  They  came  to 
an  opening  in  the  fringe  of  trees  that  skirted  one 
side  of  the  road. 

"  Oh,  what  a  view !  "  exclaimed  George,  as  he 
drew  up  the  horses.  A  broad  slope  led  down  to 
where  a  little  river  wound  through  the  meadows. 
Graceful  elms  stood  scattered  through  the  fields, 
and  a  row  of  low  hills  rose  up  the  other  side,  show 
ing  a  waving  line  against  the  blue  sky. 

"  Now,  girls,"  said  Frank,  "  we  are  to  stop  here 
all  day.  George  has  fallen  in  love  with  the  view, 
and  we  must  wait  till  he  has  put  it  into  his  sketch 
book.  Bertha  will  have  to  scramble  out  of  the 
wagon  and  sit  under  that  elm,  and  we  must  needs 
all  look  as  pastoral  as  possible.  The  finest  trout  I 
ever  caught  I  lost  again,  because  George  insisted 
on  my  holding  it  so  long  over  the  stream  while  he 
made  a  picture  of  me." 

"  It  was  but  right  to  immortalize  Frank's  only 
trout,"  said  George. 

It  was  not  long  before  they  reached  the  ap 
pointed  spot.  Miss  Dora  and  Miss  Elspeth  were 


THE   PICNIC.  63 

carefully  Landed  down  the  path  that  led  to  a 
pretty  stream  dashing  among  the  rocks.  Then 
the  girls  were  taken  out  of  the  wagon  with  the 
rest  of  its  contents, — 'all  Miss  Dora's  store  closet, 
Frank  declared,  was  there. 

It  was  a  beautiful  spot  they  rested  in,  on  the 
bank  of  a  quiet  basin  that  lay  at  the  foot  of  a 
sparkling  waterfall.  It  was  so  shaded  below,  that 
green  moss  covered  the  rocks  and  stones,  and  the 
trunks  of  the  old  fallen  trees.  Above,  the  sun 
gleamed  in  through  the  tall  pines  and  the  shining- 
leaved  oaks  and  waving  birches,  and  glistened  on 
the  spray  of  the  waterfall,  and  lay  in  streaks  over 
its  paths.  Miss  Elspeth  stood  before  it  in  silent 
pleasure  awhile,  then  she  said  to  Amy, 

"  This  makes  me  all  young  again.  It  seems  to 
wash  out  as  many  as  twenty  years  of  town  life  and 
dry,  droning  existence." 

"  0,  dear  Miss  Elspeth,  you  are  beginning  all 
over  again.  You  are  starting  all  fresh  with  us 
and  the  children,"  said  Amy. 

Frank,  meanwhile,  was  arranging  Miss  Dora's 
chair.  There  were  few  even  spots  in  the  ground, 
but  at  last  he  placed  it  under  a  spreading  hemlock, 
where  there  was  a  pretty  view  of  the  waterfall. 
Miss  Dora  tried  this  seat,  but  she  thought  the 
moss  was  a  little  clamp  for  her  feet,  so  she  moved 
it.  At  last  she  was  seated  with  her  back  to  the 
flowing  stream,  a  bare  rock  shutting  out  all  view, 
but  she  was  more  comfortable,  and  professed  her- 


64  STRUGGLE   FOR   LTFE. 

self  pleased  with  her  position.  Hannah  busied 
herself  in  putting  the  baskets  and  packets  in 
shady  nooks,  and  then  came  to  stand  by  the  edge 
of  the  water.  The  children  were  charmed.  Bes 
sie  pleaded  to  be  allowed  to  take  off  her  shoes  and 
stockings,  and  walk  in.  Martha  actually  shouted 
with  pleasure  at  the  way  the  spray  danced  in  the 
sunlight,  and  Margie  found  directly  one  gay  colum 
bine,  nodding  over  the  edge  of  the  rocks. 

"  Oh !  this  is  better  than  my  garden,"  she  ex- 
exclaimed  to  Amy.  Then  the  children  scrambled 
round  among  the  rocks  with  the  help  of  the  elder 
ones,  and  presently  left  the  little  glen  for  a  field 
on  the  hillside,  where  they  were  to  find  their 
berries.  Miss  Dora  took  out  her  knitting  under 
the  hemlock,  and  one  of  the  party,  who  happened 
back  for  a  moment,  found  her  fast  asleep,  with  a 
yellow  butterfly  perched  on  her  knitting-needles, 
and  a  bird  singing  away  just  over  her  head.  Mr. 
Rothsay  was  reading  his  book,  stretched  on  the 
ground,  writh  a  rock  for  his  pillow. 

Frank,  by  and  by,  left  the  berry-gatherers,  to 
find  a  place  for  their  dinner.  He  came  back  to 
consult  Amy.  "  Here  is  a  rock  on  the  very 
water's  edge,  if  we  can  only  get  Miss  Dora  there. 
It  would  make  such  a  charming  table,  and  T  think 
she  would  rather  eat  from  a  table  than  the  ground." 

Amy  went  to  look  at  it,  and  was  pleased  with 
the  place.  There  were  rocks  for  seats  all  round, 
and  room  was  found,  too,  for  Miss  Dora's  chair. 


THE   PICNIC.  65 

"Where's  Hannah,  then?"  said  Frank:  "we'll 
hurry  up  dinner.  We'll  have  a  tablecloth  thrown 
over  the  rock  in  grand  style." 

A  merry  dinner  it  was.  There  was  a  dish  of 
the  berries,  and  Amy  insisted  it  must  be  lined 
with  the -leaves  of  the  wild  grape  that  hung  so 
near.  There  was  cream,  which  Frank  declared  he 
had  just  milked  from  the  cow  in  the  pasture  close 
by,  but  Martha  was  very  sure  Amy  had  taken 
it  out  from  the  tin  can  that  came  in  the  wagon. 
Then  there  never  were  such  sandwiches,  nor  such 
light  buns ;  and  Amy's  cake,  that  Amy  made  her 
self,  was  perfection.  Even  Miss  Dora  was  anxious 
to  have  the  receipt  for  it.  Bessie  liked  nothing 
better  than  bringing  the  fresh  water  in  the  silver 
mugs.  The  waterfall  made  such  a  nice  pump  she 
thought,  and  pumped  itself,  too. 

Mr.  Rothsay  declared  he  had  never  eaten  such  a 
meal.  He  told,  too,  what  he  had  for  dinner  when 
he  dined  with  Queen  Victoria,  and  what  the  Shah 
of  Persia  treated  him  to,  —  nothing,  he  declared, 
equalled  this.  Martha  whispered  to  Margie  she 
was  sure  he  had  never  been  out  of  America.  Miss 
Dora  looked  a  little  uncertainly  round  upon  the 
repast.  It  was  not  till  her  seat  was  squarely 
placed,  and  a  plate  set  before  her,  with  her  knife 
and  fork  and  napkin  duly  arranged,  that  she  could 
eat  with  any  comfort,  and  allow  that  she  enjoyed 
the  entertainment.  A  gleam  of  delight  at  length 
came  over  Miss  Dora's  face,  as  she  exclaimed, 
5 


66  STRUGGLE   FOR   LIFE. 

"This  does  seem  like  dinner!"  The  salt  was  not 
forgotten,  nor  the  mustard,  for  those  who  did  not 
find  spice  enough  in  the  entertainment  itself. 
There  was  great  talking  and  laughing.  The  cllil- 
dren  could  hardly  sit  still  with  laughter,  nor  Amy, 
nor  Bertha,  Mr.  Rothsay  was  so  funny.  Bertha 
sat  leaning  against  a  tree,  her  brown  hair  falling 
each  side  of  her  face,  and  an  unwonted  color  in 
her  cheeks.  Hannah  whispered  to  Amy, 

"  It  would  be  pleasant  to  live  so  without  any 
houses." 

"  That  is  the  way  the  gypsies  live,"  said  Amy, 
and  she  sung  a  gypsy  song. 

"If  we  lived  that  way,"  said  Frank,  "after  every 
meal,  to  save  clearing  up,  we'd  take  the  corners 
of  the  cloth,  just  so,  and  toss  all  the  things  into 
the  stream." 

As  he  suited  action  to  the  word?,  Miss  Dora 
started  up  to  prevent  him  from  precipitating  her 
choice  household  treasures  into  the  waterfall. 

"  My  tankard !  my  silver  tumblers ! "  she  ex 
claimed. 

'The  afternoon  passed  away  quietly  and  quickly. 
Miss  Dora  took  her  seat  again,  and  her  knitting, 
under  the  hemlock,  and  George  drew  a  sketch  of 
her.  Mr.  Rothsay  busied  himself  with  Bessie  in 
building  a  dam  of  stones  in  the  water  of  the  pool. 
Frank  tried  to  make  a  swing  for  Martha  and 
Margie  in  the  branch  of  a  tree.  Bertha  and  Amy 
seated  themselves  with  Miss  Elspeth,  and  talked 


THE     PICNIC.  67 

quietly  with  her  by  the  murmuring  sound  of  the 
waterfall. 

Miss  Dora  made  the  first  move  to  go.  Every 
body  exclaimed  that  it  was  so  early,  and  there 
would  be  a  beautiful  sunset,  and  why  should  they 
hurry  away.  But  Miss  Dora  was  immovable. 

"  There's  Ralph/''  at  last  she  said,  "  I  only  left 
milk  enough  for  his  dinner,  and  he'll  be  getting 
uneasy." 

"  Does  Miss  Dora  keep  a  boy  ?  "  asked  Bertha. 

"No,"  laughed  Amy,  "it's  her  cat.  We  all 
wondered  she  could  come  without  him,  but  I  don't 
suppose  Ralph  would  enjoy  a  picnic." 

So  the  pretty  place  was  left  behind,  all  the 
baskets  were  carefully  filled  again,  the  silver 
counted  and  packed,  and  a  supply  of  berries  was 
borne  away,  too. 

"If  Mr.  Jasper  had  been  here,  he  could  have 
come  with  us,"  said  Amy. 

"We  do  miss  him;  it's  a  shame  he's  gone  away," 
said  Frank,  "  but  it's  just  like  ministers  to  be  sick 
all  the  time." 

"  Oh  !  don't  say  so,"  said  Bertha,  "  it  is  so  hard 
not  to  be  well." 

"  Well,  you  are  sick,  working  so  much  and 
taking  care  of  all  those  boys,"  replied  Frank ;  "  it 
has  done  you  good  already  to  be  away  from  them 
a  whole  day." 


CHAPTER    IX.     . 

k. 

MISS  ELSPETH'S  TEOUBLES. 

THERE  was  still  more  or  less  talk  in  the  village 
about  Miss  Dora  and  Miss  Elspeth  and  the  children. 
Mrs.  Bunce  kept  up  so  constant  a  surveillance  of  her 
neighbors'  affairs,  that  no  one  was  left  entirely  in 
ignorance  of  the  little  commotions  that  took  place, 
or  what  tempests  rose  and  fell  in  the  little  teapot. 

"  I  wish  people  wouldn't  ask  me  so  many  ques 
tions,"  said  Miss  Elspeth  one  day  to  Amy,  "  for  they 
are  questions  I  do  not  like  to  put  to  myself.  What 
am  I  going  to  do  with  the  children  when  they  grow 
up?  Shall  I  always  keep  them  with  me  ?  I  have 
not  answered  these  questions  satisfactorily  to  my 
self,  and  I  don't  care  to  at  present.  It  is  easy 
enough  to  put  people  off  with  the  answer  that  I 
have  not  decided,  which  is  true.  But  the  constant 
questioning  is  all  the  time  renewing  the  subject 
with  me,  when  I  would  rather  let  it  rest  awhile." 

"  What  a  pity  it  is  when  people  don't  have  busi 
ness  enough  of  their  own  to  occupy  them,"  said 
Amy,  "  instead  of  going  off  to  their  neighbors.  Do 
you  have  trouble  with  anybody  but  Mrs.  Bunce  ?  " 


MISS  ELSPETH'S  TROUBLES.  69 

"  Oh  yes,  only  the  other  day  Mrs.  and  Miss  Pax- 
ton  called.  Both  Margie  and  Martha  were  sitting 
in  the  room,  and  Mrs.  Paxton  expressed  her  fear 
that  I  should  find  trouble  since  the  children  all  grew 
up  together  so,  in  keeping  them  in  their  places 
when  they  should  be  older." 

"  Dear  me  !  "  said  Amy, "  Eleonora  Paxton  always 
looks  to  me  as  if  she  were  afraid  of  tumbling  out 
of  her  '  place.'  I  don't  think  I  should  like  to  live 
so  high,  on  so  narrow  a  point,  that  I  can't  move  my 
chair  back  without  tipping  over  1 " 

"  I  have  always  felt,"  said  Miss  Elspeth,  "  as  if 
Martha  and  Margie  were  my  own  children.  When 
their  mother  died  she  left  them  to  me,  and  I  meant 
from  that  moment,  whenever  I  could  make  an  oppor 
tunity,  to  take  them  home  for  my  own.  And  I  hope 
to  live  long  enough  to  bring  them  up  as  my  own, 
to  treat  them  as  my  children,  and  if  they  will  stay 
with  me,  never  part  with  them.  Then  when  I  saw 
Hannah,  I  wanted  to  take  her  from  her  sad  position. 
I  thought  I  might  teach  her  to  be  a  good  servant, 
that  I  would  teach  her  to  be  useful,  so  that  she 
might  one  day  be"  independent.  But  if  this  position 
proved  too  low  for  her,  I  would  never  think  of 
keeping  her  down  in  it.  I  must  do  by  them  as  I  best 
can.  God  giveth  the  increase  ! " 

"  Oh,  Miss  Elspeth,"  said  Amy  with  tears  in  her 
eyes,  "  I  am  sure  you  will  have  help." 

"  Bessie  is  my  greatest  care,"  continued  Miss 
Elspeth,  "I  fear  for  her  more  than  the  others  ;  she 


70  STRUGGLE  FOR  LIFE. 

is  so  pretty,  I  am  afraid  her  beauty  may  lift  her  up 
from  whatever  position  she  stands  in,  even  if  she 
is  fitted  for  no  other." 

"  Oh,  Bessie  is  such  a  flower,"  said  Amy,  "  now 
she  has  light  and  air  enough,  surely  she  must  grow 
up  pure  and  healthful." 

In  the  evenings  of  autumn,  Hannah  often  begged 
leave  to  go  out  to  walk.  Miss  Elspeth  was  pleased 
to  have  her  suggest  going  beyond  the  bounds  of 
the  garden  sometimes,  she  had  usually  been  so  close 
to  her  duties.  After  awhile  Hannah  picked  up  a 
new  friend  with  whom  she  walked  up  and  down  the 
street  till  quite  late  in  the  evening.  This  was 
Janet,  a  girl  who  lived  at  Mrs.  Paxton's.  Miss 
Elspeth  was  disturbed  at  the  discovery  of  this  new 
friendship.  She  did  not  like  Janet's  appearance. 
She  had  a  bold  look,  and  was  very  forward  in  her 
manners,  yet  she  hesitated  to  check  Hannah,  who 
had  never  been  in  the  habit  of  displaying  an  at 
tachment  to  any  one. 

One  cold  evening  late  in  the  autumn,  Miss  Dora 
came  to  Miss  Elspeth.  "  Has  anybody  put  away 
my  bonnet  and  mantle  ?  I  left  them  in  the  dining- 
room  till  after  tea,  because  I  am  going  to  walk  in 
and  see  ho'w  old  Mr.  Rothsay  is  to-night ;  my  gloves 
are  there,  but  my  velvet  mantle  and  my  scarf  and 
bonnet  are  gono."  Now  nobody  ever  ventured  to 
put  away  anything  of  Miss  Dora's,  for  she  was  the 
one  who  cleared  away  what  other  people  left  about. 
She  never  liked  to  see  any  clutter,  as  she  called  it, 


MISS   ELSPETIl's    TROUBLES.  71 

on  the  tables  and  chairs.  She  would  not  have  her 
parlor  look  like  the  Paxtons'  drawing-rooms  for  the 
world.  At  the  Paxtons  there  was  the  centre-table 
in  the  corner  of  the  room,  and  so  many  tables  she 
couldn't  find  the  middle  of  the  room ;  the  chairs 
where  anybody  would  run  against  them  who  came 
in,  and  the  room  so  dark,  she  couldn't  see  whether 
she  was  walking  over  a  footstool  or  the  piano  which 
took  up  half  one  side  of  the  room.  Then,  when  she 
did  see  the  tables,  they  were  all  covered  up  with 
crockery  and  gimcracks.  The  first  day  she  went 
there  she  supposed  they  had  just  been  having  the 
house  cleaned,  and  had  laid  out  on  the  tables  what 
ever  belonged  on  the  closet  shelves. 

No  such  display  of  bijouterie  was  found  on  Miss 
Dora's  tables.  No  luckless  cape-bonnet  found  a 
resting-place  in  any  hall  chair.  She  not  only  gave 
out  her  law  that  everything  should  have  its  place, 
and  should  be  kept  in  its  place,  but  she  was  on  the 
spot  herself  to  execute  her  own  law  if  it  should  be 
neglected.  So  baskets,  and  books,  and  dolls,  all 
that  the  children  played  with,  returned  to  their 
stated  shelves  or  cupboards,  when  their  time  was 
over.  The  dolls  went  in  and  out  so  often,  they 
might  almost  know  their  own  way.  Three  books 
only  kept  their  places  on  Miss  Dora's  table ;  the 
rest  could  be  found  in  the  dining-room  bookcase 
unless  they  "were  actually  in  the  hands  of  some 
reader. 

But  Miss  Dora  seldom  went  out,  and  the  making 


72  STRUGGLE   FOR   LIFE. 

a  visit  was  so  unusual  an  event  that  it  required  an 
hour  or  two's  preparation.  The  velvet  mantle  was 
neatly  folded  and  laid  on  a  chair,  the  bonnet  placed 
upon  that,  with  the  camel's-hair  scarf,  and  the  gloves 
rested  on  the  crown  of  the  bonnet,  all  ready  for 
Miss  Dora  when  the  time  came  for  her  to  go.  So 
her  dismay  was  great  and  not  unfounded,  when  she 
discovered  these  were  all  missing.  "  Is  it  possible 
Hannah  can  have  taken  them?  "  she  asked  whisper- 
ingly  of  Miss  Elspeth. 

"  No  indeed,"  exclaimed  Miss  Elspeth,  "  perhaps 

you  did  not  take  them  out,  perhaps "  all  Miss 

Elspeth's  conjectures  were  unnatural,  and  Miss 
Dora's  room  and  every  known  place  was  searched 
in  vain  for  her  missing  property.  At  last  Bessie,  who 
was  putting  herself  to  bed  with  the  other  children, 
was  questioned  on  the  subject,  and  confessed  that 
she  had  seen  Hannah  walking  away  with  Miss 
Dora-'s  things  on,  but  that  Hannah  had  told  her  she 
must  not  say  anything  about  it,  because  she  should 
be  home  before  Miss  Dora  would  want  them.  Miss 
Dora's  indignation  for  awhile  was  beyond  words. 
She  walked  down  stairs  again,  opened  all  the  doors 
and  windows,  leaning  out  her  head  to  search  for  the 
missing  Hannah.  She  walked  down  to  the  garden 
gate  and  returned,  then  went  into  the  kitchen  and 
put  out  the  fire  there.  There  was  a  biscuit  left 
upon  the  stove,  that  Hannah  had  not  eaten  for 
rter  tea,  but  had  apparently  saved  for  a  later  meal. 
This  Miss  Dora  put  back  into  the  closet,  and  the 


MISS  ELSFETH'S  TROUBLES.  73 

lamp  left  burning  in  the  kitchen  she  extinguished  and 
set  aside.  "  I'm  not  going  to  keep  a  fire  for  her  to 
sit  up  by,"  she  said  as  she  came  back,  "  she  may 
find  her  way  to  bed  in  the  dark.  I  hope  it  will 
teach  her  something  this  bitter  cold  night."  Then 
she  began  to  pour  out  her  words  in  anger.  She 
detailed  all  the  faults  Hannah  had  committed  from 
that  very  first  day  she  saw  her  in  Boston.  She 
went  over  the  unwearied  pains  she  had  taken  to 
reform  her.  "My  camel's-hair  scarf!"  she  ex 
claimed.  "  Mrs.  Paxton  was  right  when  she  said 
these  emigrants  did  not  know  any  bounds  to  their 
insolent  ways.  And  to  be  seen  in  them,  going  up 
and  down  the  street  with  that  Janet !  She  had 
better  not  see  me  to-night !  "  The  garden  gate  was 
heard  to  close  just  as  the  storm  had  reached  its 
climax.  Miss  Elspeth  retired  from  the  contest. 
She  believed  it  was  hopeless  to  quell  it,  and  Hannah 
had  indeed  done  very  wrongly.  But  she  need  not 
have  feared.  There  was  a  sudden  calm  after  this 
great  tempest.  Miss  Dora  met  Hannah  at  the 
door.  "  You  may  lay  those  things  in  the  dining- 
room,"  she  said ;  "  it's  awful  cold  to-night,  and 
there's  no  fire  in  the  kitchen.  Go  into  the  parlor  and 
warm  your  feet.  And  if  you  want  anything  to  eat, 
take  the  candle  there,  and  look  in  the  closet ;  the 
kitchen  lamp  is  out."  And  Miss  Dora  said  no  more 
upon  the  subject.  This  was  often  her  way.  Her 
auger  expended  itself  upon  the  bystanders  who 
were  at  hand  at  the.  moment  of  the  offence,  and 
there  was  nothing  left  to  pour  out  upon  the  offend- 


74  STRUGGLE   FOR   LIFE. 

er.  But  Miss  Elspeth  was  grieved  at  this  and 
with  other  many  disobediences  of  Hannah,  and 
she  was  the  more  pained  because  she  believed  she 
could  trace  the  evil  influence  of  Janet  on  many 
occasions.  Whenever  Miss  Elspeth  reproved  her, 
Hannah  looked  very  stubborn.  She  listened  as  if 
she  were  not  hearing.  Miss  Elspeth  told  her  at 
last  she  did  not  wish  her  to  walk  with  Janet  any 
more ;  that  she  could  not  consider  her  a  good 
friend  to  her.  Hannah  spoke  then  with  an  indiffer 
ent  tone  and  manner,  "  You  have  taken  me  away 
from  the  rest,  and  now  you  may  as  well  take  me 
away  from  her.  I'll  be  shut  up  in  your  house 
with  all  of  you,  and  not  speak  to  any  of  them.  But 
I  don't  do  it  to  please  you,  but  because  I  choose. 
And  I  will  go  away  if  I  choose.  -No  one  can  pre 
vent  me."  "  Somebody  else  has  taught  you  such 
language,"  said  Miss  Elspeth ;  "  you  have  not  been 
so  happy  since  you  have  made  new  friends.  When 
you  remember  last  summer,  you  will  think  so  too." 
Hannah  did  think  about  it,  and  perhaps  agreed 
with  Miss  Elspeth.  She  kept  for  awhile  at  home 
more  closely,  going  only  where  she  was  sent,  and 
never  stopping  to  talk  with  Janet.  But  she  did 
not  do  this  willingly.  She  showed  ill-temper 
towards  the  children,  and  went  through  her  duties 
stubbornly.  Miss  Elspeth  was  discouraged  about 
her,  and  hoped  for  some  change  in  the  winter, 
when  she  meant  to  send  her  to  school,  where  she 
thought  Hannah  might  find  companions  with  whom 
she  could  be  trusted. 


CHAPTER    X. 

THE   CIRCUS. 

FEANK  and  Amy  came  one  day  to  take  the 
children  to  a  circus  there  was  in  town. 

"Shall  we  really  go  into  the  big  tent?"  asked 
Margie  ;  "  I  was  a  little  afraid  of  it  the  other  day  ; 
I  thought  there  must  be  soldiers  in  it." 

"  Pooh  !  soldiers,"  said  Bessie ;  "  no,  there  are 
nothing  but  horses.  Steevie  went  to  one  once, — 
oh  !  a  great  many  times,  and  he  told  me  all  about 
it.  The  horses  know  as  much  as  the  men." 

"  Oh !  they  could  not  know  as  much  as  men/' 
said  Martha ;  "  a  horse  never  talks." 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  about  his  talking,  but  one 
of  the  horses  ate  bread  and  butter,  and  Steevie 
said  there  was  a  little  girl  about  as  big  as  me, 
dressed  all  in  silver." 

11  Come,  come,"  interrupted  Miss  Dora,  "  what's 
ajl  this  talking?  The  dinner  things  must  all  be 
put  away.  Hannah's  going  to  the  circus,  and  you 
don't  mean  she  shall  do  all  the  work.  I  see  your 
heads  are  half  turned  now,  and  I  am  sure  they 
will  be  wholly  after  you  come  home." 


76  STRUGGLE   FOR   LIFE. 

Margie  slowly  put  her  chair  against  the  side  of 
the  room,  and  then  came  to  Amy  to  whisper, 

"  I  don't  want  to  go  to  the  circus  if  it  will  turn 
my  head  round,  I'm  afraid  of  it." 

Amy  laughed,  and  encouraged  Margie.  "  Oh, 
we  are  only  going  to  see  the  horses  ride.  You 
will  like  to  see  how  prettily  they  look,  and  we 
shall  sit  on  benches  to  look  at  them,  and  they  will 
not  come  near  us." 

"  And  shall  we  see  the  horse  eat  bread  and 
butter  ?  "  asked  Margie. 

"  We  shall  see  something  very  funny,  that  will 
make  you  laugh,"  said  Amy,  "  and  you  shall  sit 
between  me  and  Frank.  We  will  take  good  care 
of  you." 

"  We  shall  see  the  clown,"  said  Hannah,  who 
looked  more  radiant  than  she  had  done  for  a  long 
time. 

On  the  way,  she  walked  by  Amy,  and  said,  "  I 
am  very  glad  we  are  going  to  the  circus.  Janet 
told  me  she  had  looked  in  between  the  curtains  of 
the  tents.  She  stood  there  all  the  afternoon.  I 
had  much  rather  go  inside." 

"  How  came  you  to  see  Janet  ?  I  thought  you 
did  not  talk  to  her  now,"  asked  Amy. 

"  She  comes  sometimes  to  see  me  at  the  garden 
gate,  and  then  I  can't  help  talking  to  her ;  and  I 
don't  want  to  help  it  now.  She  told  me  she  had 
seen  a  boy  inside  the  tent  carrying  round  oranges, 
and  she  thinks  it  was  Steevie,  and  three  after- 


THE   CIRCUS.  77 

noons  she  has  been  to  try  to  look  and  see  if  it  is 
he,  but  she  don't  know  yet.  Once  I  asked  Miss 
Elspeth  if  I  might  go  too,  but  she  would  not 
let  me." 

"  0  Hannah,  why  didn't  you  tell  her  your  rea 
son?"  said  Amy;  '-anybody  else  could  find  out  for 
you  better  than  Janet.  Frank  or  my  father  would 
have  inquired  for  you.  What  made  you  think  this 
boy  may  be  Steevie  ?  " 

"  Janet  described  him  to  me.  This  boy  belongs 
to  the  circus,  and  sells  oranges  there,  and  Janet 
heard  him  say  he  would  one  day  be  a  rider,  and 
that  is  what  Steevie  always  wanted  to  be,"  said 
Hannah. 

"  And  is  this  all  that  makes  you  think  it  may  be 
Steevie?"  asked  Amy. 

"  Oh  !  he  must  be  somewhere,  Miss  Amy,"  said 
Hannah,  "  and  I  must  see  him  somehow." 

As  they  approached  the  entrance  of  the  circus, 
Amy  whispered  to  George  what  Hannah  had  said 
and  wanted.  They  made  their  way  in  through  a 
crowd,  and  seated  themselves  on  one  of  the  hard, 
wooden  seats.  They  had  not  been  long  seated, 
when  the  cry  was  heard  of,  "  Oranges !  fresh 
oranges  ! " 

Hannah  half  rose  up,  and  presently  there  made 
his  way  along  an  ill-dressed  boy,  with  yellow  hair, 
and  an  air  of  great  business  talent.  George  beck 
oned  to  him,  but  Hannah  pulled  Amy's  sleeve. 


78  STRUGGLE   FOR   LIFE. 

"  Oh !  it  isn't  Steevie,  that  is  not  like  Steevie," 
she  exclaimed. 

George  asked  him  some  questions. 

"  I'm  attached  to  the  establishment,  sir,"  he 
answered  ;  "  I've  taken  out  a  patent  right  for  the 
trade,  and  you  can't  get  'em  cheaper.  Six  for 
ninepencc,"  and  so  forth. 

"  But  don't  you  have  anybody  to  help  you  ? " 
asked  George,  as  he  treated  the  children,  who 
had  been  looking  at  them  with  longing  e}res,  to 
oranges. 

"  There's  a  feller  has  got  lozengers  down  there," 
said  the  boy,  pocketing  his  money;  "there  isn't 
another  in  the  establishment. 

"  Send  along  the  lozenge  boy,"  said  George, 
"  we'll  have  some  lozenges  too." 

The  lozenge  boy  proved  a  little  fellow,  hardly 
higher  than  the  benches,  and  Hannah  turned  her 
head  away  from  him  in  despair.  "  Oh  !  Janet  did 
not  tell  the  truth.  I  believed  her,  Miss  Amy," 
she  said ;  "  she  told  me  just  what  he  wore,  and 
how  dark  was  his  hair,  and  his  way,  she  told  me, 
was  just  like  Steevie's." 

"  But  how  could  she  know  ?  "  asked  Amy ;  "  she 
had  never  seen  him." 

"  Oh,  I  had  talked  so  much  about  him.  I  told 
her  just  how  he  looked,"  answered  Hannah,  "  and 
she  thought  she  must  have  met  him  once.  But 
she  was  not  telling  me  right.  It  wasn't  the  truth 
she  was  telling  me.  She  wanted  to  get  me  away, 


THE   CIRCUS.  79 

and  make  me  come  to  the  circus  without  Miss 
Elspeth's  leave,  and  she  would  like  to  have  me 
never  go  back  there." 

"  But  why  would  she  like  to  take  you  away 
from  Miss  Elspeth  ?  "  asked  Amy. 

"  Oh,  she  wants  to  join  the  circus  too,  and  says 
they  could  teach  us  anything;  and  I  thought  if 
Steevie  was  here  —  '  Hannah  paused  a  little. 

"  You  did  not  think  of  leaving  Miss  Elspeth, 
and  coming  here  !  "  exclaimed  Amy. 

But  the  performances  were  beginning,  and  the 
attention  of  the  children  was  quite  taken  up  with 
the  wonders  that  took  place.  The  little  ponies 
were  their  great  joy,  and  the  way  they  breakfasted 
at  the  table ;  and  they  laughed  at  the  jokes  of  the 
clown,  though  they  did  not  understand  what  they 
meant,  but  he  made  up  such  a  funny  face  that 
they  could  not  help  laughing  if  they  had  tried  not 
to.  And  there  was  children's  laughter  sounding 
all  about,  so  that  the  elders  could  not  help  laugh 
ing,  too,  even  if  they  thought  the  whole  thing 
very  silly  and  not  worth  looking  at.  And  then 
there  were  beautiful  ladies,  that  must  be  either 
queens  or  fairies,  though  Martha  thought  neither 
queens  nor  fairies  rode  on  horseback.  But  their 
dresses  shone  and  glittered  so  that  Bessie  believed 
they  might  have  bought  them  of  the  fairies.  Bes 
sie  thought  it  must  be  very  easy  to  jump  through 
a  ring  down  upon  the  horse's  back  again,  and 
asked  Frank  if  he  did  not  think  he  could  do  it 
any  day. 


80  STRUGGLE  FOR  LIFE. 

But  they  were  all  the  most  enchanted  with  the 
little  girl  that  came  on  with  such  rosy  cheeks  and 
blue  muslin  dress,  with  real  roses  all  over  it, 
or  something  that  looked  like  real  roses.  Hannah 
fixed  her  eyes  upon  her.  The  little  girl,  she 
thought,  looked  more  like  a  queen  than  all  the 
ladies  had  done.  She  gave  out  her  commands 
with  a  smiling  royal  air,  and  said  what  she  would 
have  as  if  she  knew  she  would  be  obeyed.  She 
looked  so  happy,  too,  and  kept  time  with  the  music 
in  all  her  motions. 

Going  home,  they  all  agreed  the  little  girl  was 
the  best  part  of  the  performance,  —  all  but  Margie, 
who  would  like  to  have  the  little  ponies.  Hannah 
was  so  taken  up  with  her  pleasure  that  she  seemed 
to  have  forgotten  for  aw^hile  her  disappointment. 
When  they  reached  the  gate,  Amy  said  to  Hannah, 
"  It  is  not  too  cold  for  me  to  talk  a  little  while 
at  the  gate  with  you  after  supper,  and  the  chil 
dren  have  gone  to  bed." 

"  In  quick  to  your  supper,  and  then  to  bed," 
was  Miss  Dora's  greeting  to  the  children,  "  and 
don't  let's  have  any  talking.  You  have  had  enough 
of  that ! " 

"Are  my  eyes  looking  at  my  heels?"  asked  Mar 
gie  of  Miss  Elspeth.  "Frank  put  me  into  the  gate, 
and  said  if  I  did  not  run  quick  I  should  see  them." 

"  Oh,  Frank  was  only  laughing,"  said  Miss  Els 
peth,  as  she  gave  the  children  their  bread  and  milk. 

"  He  thought  our  heads  would  be  turned,"  said 
Martha,  "  but  mine  isn't." 


THE   CIRCUS.  81 

Bessie  began  to  tell  Miss  Elspeth  all  about  what 
she  had  seen,  and  Margie  interrupted  with  her  ex 
clamations,  and  Martha  began  at  the  beginning,  to 
tell  how  everything  was,  and  exactly  what  hap 
pened. 

But  they  were  tired  enough  to  be  quiet,  at  last, 
and  willing  to  go  to  bed.  Miss  Dora  put  on  her 
mantle  to  go  over  and  talk  with  Mrs.  Bunce,  and 
tell  her  where  the  children  had  been,  and  agree 
with  her  that  she  did  not  think  it  was  the  place  for 
children  to  go  to,  and  that  it  only  made  them  wild 
and  unmanageable  the  next  day. 

Miss  Elspeth  was  walking  up  and  down  in  the 
garden  in  the  fading  light,  walking  quickly  to  keep 
warm  in  the  cool  air  of  the  approaching  night. 
Amy  came  to  the  garden  gate,  but  she  did  not  find 
Hannah  there,  and  went  on  to  the  house.  She 
found  Hannah  had  just  lighted  the  candles  in  the 
parlor,  and  had  placed  them  in  front  of  the  mirror, 
and  was  looking  at  herself  in  the  glass.  She 
turned  round  as  Amy  came  in,  and  said  presently, 
"  It  would  not  do.  All  the  roses,  and  gold,  and 
muslin  dresses,  would  not  make  me  beautiful.  I 
did  not  think  of  that  before.  How  different  I  am 
from  that  child  !  Oh,  look  in  the  glass,  Miss  Amy." 

Amy  looked,  and  saw  there,  indeed,  Hannah's 
worn  face  and  tired-looking  eyes.  She  had  not 
gained  the  air  of  healthiness  the  other  children 
wore.  She  never  had  the  freshness  of  childhood. 
There  was  the  same  wistful  glance  that  had  first 
6 


82  STRUGGLE  FOR  LIFE. 

appealed  to  Miss  Elspeth,  and  the  same  drooping 
figure.  "  Miss  Elspeth  will  have  to  nurse  you,  to 
make  you  strong/'  said  Amy.  "  You  don't  look 
well,  Hannah.  I  have  thought  of  it  before." 

"  It's  the  beautiful  face  I  am  thinking  of,"  said 
Hannah,  "  that  never  was  mine  and  never  will  be. 
Oh,  Miss  Amy,  I  would  like  to  be  like  that  child, 
so  beautiful  and  happy." 

"  Don't  you  know,  Hannah,"  said  Amy,  "'  that  the 
roses  were  not  real  she  wore,  and  what  seemed  like 
gold  \vas  not  gold.  Her  beauty,  I  think,  was  not 
more  real,  Hannah,  or  her  happiness.  Perhaps 
they  paint  her  cheeks  to  make  them  look  rosy 
and  healthy,  and  they  teach  her  to  laugh  to  make 
her  look  happy.  Oh,  think,  Hannah,  how  hard  it 
must  be  to  have  to  laugh  for  one's  work,  to  have  to 
dance  when  you  feel  tired,  and  to  smile  when  you 
feel  sick  and  weary.  And  every  afternoon  this 
poor  child  must  come  in  and  look  the  same,  and 
appear  as  happy,  and  all  to  earn  bread,  and  some 
thing  to  live  upon." 

"  It  does  not  seem  like  work,"  said  Hannah,  as 
she  listened  intently. 

"  If  you  could  see  the  child,  she  would  tell  you 
it  must  be,"  said  Amy.  "  Perhaps  they  treat  her 
kindly,  but  even  if  they  do,  she  must  every  day  go  - 
through  this  same  work,  whether  she  chooses  or 
not.  IShe  is  bound  as  closely  as  any  one  you  know, 
and  has  to  work  as  hard." 


- 


CHAPTER    XI. 

ONE   YEAR    GONE. 

THE  winter,  with  its  regular  hours  of  school,  had 
a  beneficial  effect  upon  Hannah.  When  the  spring 
came,  and  she  had  been  a  whole  year  with  Miss 
Elspeth,  she  showed  a  decided  improvement  in  all 
her  appearance,  and  though  she  was  never  joyous, 
wore  a  contented  and  happy  air. 

Miss  Elspeth  looked  back  upon  the  year's  exper 
iment,  for  she  could  scarcely  look  upon  the  year  as 
otherwise  than  an  experiment,  and  had  reason  to 
be  deeply  satisfied.  It  had  been  a  year  of  great 
labor  and  responsibility  to  her.  Miss  Dora  was  no 
help  in  encouraging  her  here.  When  anything 
went  wrong,  Miss  Dora  would  constantly  speak  of 
it  as  Elspeth's  enterprise,  and  openly  reproach  her 
for  the  additional  trouble  her  romantic  plans  had 
brought  into  their  quiet  household.  But  for  all  the 
days  of  Hannah's  faithful  service,  for  the  entertain 
ment  that,  in  spite  of  herself,  the  children  afforded 
her,  for  the  gayer,  more  cheerful  life  that  had  taken 
the  place  of  their  former  monotonous  existence; 
for  all  this,  Miss  Dora  never  thought  of  bringing 


84  STEUGGLE   FOB  LIFE. 

thanks  to  Miss  Elspeth.  And  her  influence  was  not 
very  favorable  for  the  children.  They  had  soon 
discovered  how  much  Miss  Dora's  scolding  meant, 
and  they  found  her  much  more  indulgent  to  their 
desires,  however  unreasonable,  than  Miss  Elspeth. 

"Miss  Dora  talks  so  all  day,"  Bessie  would  say, 
"that  I  don't  mind  whether  she's  talking  at  me  or 
the  door-post.  And  then  I  run  off,  and  Hannah  or 
somebody  else  stops  to  listen." 

Miss  Dora  would  rather  say,  "yes,  yes,"  to  any 
of  their  requests,  than  take  the  trouble  to  see  if  it 
were  best  to  grant  it.  "Take  it,  and  go,  only  don't 
stop  here  to  tease;"  was  the  answer  usually  ex 
pected  by  the  trembling  claimant.  Miss  Elspeth 
was  more  conscientious,  and  weighed,  too  closely 
perhaps,  every  little  question, — whether  it  would 
be  best  for  Bessie,  to  grant  her  this,  or  whether 
Margie  should  be  encouraged  to  do  that.  But,  in 
spite  of  doubt  and  speculation,  time  went  on 
and  the  little  household  affairs,  and  the  children 
gathered  up  here  arid  there  much  good  and  very 
little  ill. 

In  the  spring,  George  Arnold  was  to  go  away,  all 
the  way  to  China.  There  had  been  great  doubt 
what  his  father  would  do  with  him.  He  had  been 
kept  at  school  the  longer,  because  his  father  could 
not  decide  the  question.  He  wanted  to  make  his 
son  a  merchant,  and  George  had  other  tastes,  and 
preferred  college,  or  to  be  educated  as  a  scientific 
man.  But  now  it  was  decided  he  was  to  make  a 


ONE   YEAR    GONE.  85 

voyage  to  China,  before  anything  else  was  deter 
mined,  and  George  was  ready  enough  to  go. 

Hannah  had  been  sent  to  the  station  on  an  er 
rand.  She  met  Amy  there,  who  had  gone  to  bid 
George  good-bye.  Frank  was  to  accompany  him 
into  town,  to  see  him  on  board  of  his  vessel.  They 
were  standing  on  the  platform  — 

"  I  shall  bring  home  a  whole  portfolio  of  sketches, 
Amy,"  said  George,  as  they  waited,  "and  shall  make 
such  paintings  of  the  storms  at  sea,  that  your  hair 
will  stand  on  end.  I  don't  mean  to  give  up  my 
drawing  and  painting,  whatever  else  I  may  do." 

Amy  tried  to  speak  cheerfully,  "  You'll  make 
your  fortune,  and  then  come  home  and  settle  down 
into  an  artist." 

"  I  shall  have  to  make  my  fortune  in  a  year, 
then,"  said  George,  "  for  I  mean  to  come  home  in 
a  year  at  any  rate.  And  if  I  am  to  be  an  artist,  it 
is  time  I  began.  Oh,  Amy,  I  see  it  now.  It  is  all 
folly,  all  this  time  is  wasted.  These  last  few  years 
I  ought  to  have  been  doing  something.  Oh,  why 
couldn't  my  father  have  let  me  follow  out  my 
tastes  !  Last  week  when  he  proposed  to  me  to  go, 
I  thought  I  might  go  for  the  sake  of  the  voyage 
and  the  experience,  but  it  is  only  using  up  another 
precious  year  of  my  life.  It  won't  make  me  a  mer 
chant,  it  will  only  unmake  me  what  I  am.  Why 
did  he  not  throw  away  my  pencils  when  I  was  five 
years  old,  and  shut  me  up  in  an  office,  if  he  wanted 
to  stifle  me  there  ?  One  more  year  lost.  Amy ! 


86  STRUGGLE  FOR  LIFE. 

An  artist,  Amy !  At  my  age  an  artist  ought  to  be 
an  artist,  but  what  am  I?" 

The  whistle  of  the  steam  engine  was  heard  sig 
nalling  its  approach.  "  Oh,  it  is  not  too  late  now, 
George,"  Amy  said  earnestly.  "  You  will  see  your 
father  in  town.  Don't  go,  to  throw  away  your  life  ! 
Only  speak  to  him,  as  you  can  speak,  and  I  am  sure 
he  will  listen  to  you  !  " 

Frank's  foot  was  on  the  step  of  the  car.  He 
turned  back  for  George.  George  looked  into  Amy's 
face.  "  If  I  lose  my  life,  Amy,  you  know  I  am  to 
come  to  you  to  find  it  again." 

The  train  had  gone,  and  Amy  turned  to  find 
Hannah  by  her  side,  waiting  to  walk  home  with  her. 
Amy  had  meant  to  take  the  winding  path  home 
through  the  woods.  She  wanted  a  little  quiet  time 
to  think.  She  wanted  to  ask  how  it  was  everything 
must  go  so  wrong  for  George,  and  whether  she 
might  have  done  anything  to  make  it  different. 
She  had  so  great  an  influence  over  George,  and 
what  had  she  done  with  it?  That  last  shrill  sound 
of  the  steam-whistle,  as  he  was  carried  away,  was 
ringing  still  in  her  ears,  and  she  wanted  the  gentle, 
soothing  sounds  of  the  whispering  leaves  in  the 
pine  woods. 

There  was  left  a  great  vacant  space  around  her, 
now  that  he  was  gone  for  a  whole  year.  She 
wanted  to  go  and  lean  against  the  shaded  rock  that 
the  pine  tassels  covered,  and  hide  her  face  in  her 
hands,  and  think.  Presently,  she  must  go  home  to 


ONE   YEAR    GONE.  87 

work,  but  now  she  needed  a  few  moments'  solitude, 
a  few  words  with  herself,  to  reproach  herself  that 
she  could  not  have  found  better  words  at  parting, 
that  she  had  not  been  a  better  friend  before  the 
parting  came.  She  had  thought  it  very  strange 
George  had  consented  so  willingly  to  go  away, 
without  having  made  any  appeal  to  his  father  that 
he  might  stay.  The  old  talk  of  his  devoting  him 
self  to  his  art,  of  going  to  Europe  to  give  himself 
up  to  study  of  the  old  masters  and  the  new,  all  this 
had  been  lately  forgotten  or  set  aside.  Those  last 
words  of  George  were  very  true.  The  last  years 
of  his  life  had  been,  as  it  were,  wasted.  He  had 
devoted  himself  neither  to  his  art  nor  to  study  of 
any  sort.  He  had  dreamed  them,  happily  enough, 
away.  Neither  Amy  nor  he  were  conscious  that  it 
had  been  an  aimless  life.  Sometime  or  other  he 
had  meant  to  speak  to  his  father  about  his  wishes, 
and  urge  him  to  give  up  this  cherished  plan  of 
making  a  merchant  of  him,  but  the  decisive  moment 
had  never  come.  Mr.  Arnold  had  moved  to  New 
York  from  Boston,  a  few  years  before,  and  had  left 
his  son  at  school  there.  George  only  saw  his 
father  in  his  vacations,  and  not  much  of  him  then, 
for  his  vacations  were  frequently  spent  in  travel 
ling  and  wandering  among  the  mountains.  He 
had  always  supposed  that,  sometime  or  other,  he 
should  be  able  to  show  his  father  that  he  was  able 
to  do  something  superior  to  plodding  on  in  the 
common  Avays.  Amy  believed  this  too.  She  thought 


88  STRUGGLE   FOR   LIFE. 

every  year  that  George  would  find  some  way  to 
show  the  real  talent  and  genius  that  he  possessed. 
But  the  days  passed  on  without  any  change,  until 
Mr.  Arnold  made  the  sudden  proposal  that  George 
should  go  to  Canton.  And  George,  attracted  by 
the  idea  of  the  voyage,  thinking  it  was  only  for  a 
year  he  was  to  be  gone,  agreed  directly  to  the  pro 
posal.  Amy  had  wondered,  and  had  been  a  little 
disappointed,  that  he  had  so  easily  acceded.  It 
seemed  like  directly  consenting  to  his  father's  plans, 
without  coming  to  any  explanation  with  him.  It 
was  like  promising  himself  to  him  for  the  years 
that  should  follow.  But  in  the  hurry  of  departure, 
for  George  did  not  have  time  even  to  go  on  to  New 
York  to  bid  his  mother  good-bye,  in  the  bustle  of 
preparation,  Amy  could  have  no  serious  talk  with 
him.  The  very  evening  before  he  left,  some  friends 
came  out  of  town  to  bid  him  good-bye,  and  she  had 
no  chance  to  speak  with  him.  She  brought  herself 
to  think  that  George  was  deciding  that  his  duty 
led  him  to  follow  his  father's  will,  and  that  he 
meant  to  make  a  sacrifice  of  his  tastes.  She  was 
willing  to  admire  him  for  this  ;  she  only  wished  his 
father  might  know  how  great  this  sacrifice  was; 
she  only  hoped  it  was  right  George  should  lay 
aside  all  his  high  ambitions,  and  throw  away,  as  it 
were,  the  great  gifts  he  possessed. 

But  these  ideas  of  duty  had  not  risen  up  in 
George's  mind.  He  had  yielded  to  the  proposal  of 
the  moment,  as  all  through  his  life  he  had  yielded 


ONE  YEAR  GONE.  89 

to  circumstances.  Yet  as  the}7  walked  silently 
through  the  wood-path  to  the  station,  the  quiet 
nooks  that  opened  themselves  on  each  side,  the 
broad-spreading  trees  that  hung  above  rocky  seats 
brought  back  the  remembrance  of  the  old  enthusi 
astic  talks  they  had  all  had,  when  they  used  to  go 
and  pass  long  mornings  there.  Such  great  imagi 
nations  as  they  had  formed  there  !  George  was  to 
go  sometime  to  the  old  world,  and  study  the  inspir 
ation  of  all  its  old  stories  and  works  of  wonder, 
and  then  he  was  to  come  back  into  these  very  woods, 
bringing  home  a  fresh  love  for  the  tall  old  trees, 
and  the  new  life  that  sprung  up  every  year  beneath 
them,  and  then  he  was  to  show  what  the  artist  of 
the  new  world  could  be  !  .  All  these  promises  and 
aspirations  came  back  suddenly  and  reproachfully 
now.  At  the  last  moments  of  parting,  came  the 
sudden  thought  that  this  was  the  decisive  act  that 
was  to  cut  him  off  from  these  old  dreams,  that  he 
was  to  leave  them  behind  as  dreams,  and  promise 
himself  to  that  other  life  of  activity  that  he  had 
never  fitted  himself  for. 

Just  one  moment  can  suddenly  reveal  hidden 
feelings !  Those  last  words  had  awakened  Amy. 
They  showed  her,  what  she  had  not  told  herself  be 
fore,  that  she  was  bound  to  George,  all  her  heart, 
her  whole  soul.  They  showed  her  at  the  same 
time  that  he  needed  her.  Not  in  this  moment  did 
she  confess  to  herself  that  she  was  any  way  stronger 
than  he,  nor  ever  would  she  feel  this !  She  believed 


90  STRUGGLE   FOR  LIFE. 

he  was  so  much  above  her  in  his  genius  and  his 
talent,  she  had  always  looked  upon  him  with  such 
admiration,  had  loved  his  great  thoughts  and  en 
thusiastic  hopes,  that  she  did  not  see,  and  she  never 
saw,  that  she  was  greater  than  he  in  her  steadfast 
ness,  and  that  he  must  depend  on  her  for  his  faith. 
Only  she  saw  now  that  he  did  depend  on  her,  and 
that  she  was  truly  to  "  find  his  life  "  for  him.  But 
he  had  gone  away  for  a  whole  year,  and  she  felt  as 
if  she  were  standing  quite  alone  in  a  broad  desert 
place. 

She  turned  away,  as  her  eyes  came  back  along 
the  two  black  lines  of  the  railway  to  the  station, 
already  quiet  and  empty  again.  The  noise  and 
tlie  rush  of  the  cars  were  over,  and  the  whistling 
and  panting  of  the  engine.  There  was  an  empty 
space  in  front  of  Amy  where  the  cars  had  stood, 
and  black  cinders  were  scattered  in  among  the 
little  spires  of  grass  that  tried  to  grow  between 
the  rails.  The  sound  of  hurrying  wheels  had  died 
away  from  the  station.  Hannah  stood  by  Amy, 
and  asked. 

"Are  you  going  home  now?  I  have  been  to 
get  the  eggs.  This  pretty  little  basket  is  Miss 
Elspeth's  egg-basket,"  she  added,  as  she  thought 
Amy  looked  at  her  inquiringly.  Amy  recovered 
herself,  and  walked  down  into  the  road  with  her 
as  Hannah  began  to  talk. 

"  Did  you  remember,  Miss  Amy,  it's  just  a  year 
yesterday  since  we  all  came  here?  Miss  Dora 


ONE   YEAR   GONE.  91 

made  a  cake  in  honor  of  it,  and  we  would  have 
brought  you  in  a  piece  last  night,  but  Miss  Elspeth 
thought  you  would  be  busy  about  Mr.  George's 
going  away.  I  thought  a  year  would  be  so  very 
long.  Do  you  remember,  Miss  Amy,  you  told  me 
one  year  wouldn't  be  so  very  long,  and  that  five 
years  would  soon  be  over?" 

"  Did  I  tell  you  one  year  would  not  be  very 
long?"  asked  Amy,  dreamily. 

"  Yes,  and  I  have  remembered  a  great  deal 
you  told  me,"  said  Hannah.  "  That  night  after 
the  circus,  when  I  felt  so  bad,  —  oh,  you  don't 
know  how  wicked ! — you  spoke  to  me  about  work; 
and  another  time  you  told  me  how  everybody 
needed  to  work,  and  how  it  made  everybody  hap 
pier.  It  sounds  better  than  it  used  to,  but  I  don't 
get  accustomed  to  it  yet.  Wouldn't  you  truly, 
Miss  Amy,  like  to  change  places  with  Miss  Pax- 
ton?" 

"  Change  places  with  Miss  Paxton  !  "  exclaimed 
Amy,  rousing  herself. 

"  I  do  believe  she  lies  on  the  sofa  or  sits  in  her 
chair  all  the  day  long,"  said  Hannah ;  "  and  then 
she  looks  so  handsomely,  and  all  the  day  long  has 
nothing  to  do." 

"  Nothing  to  do,  indeed,  Hannah,"  said  Amy ; 
"  when  I  was  there  a  few  evenings  ago,  she 
looked  to  me  so  tired,  she  was  leaning  back  in  her 
chair  so  languidly,  that  I  fancied  she  must  have 
been  riding  on  horseback,  or  tiring  herself  some 
way,  and  I  asked  her ;  but  she  said  she  had  not 


02.  STRUGGLE   FOR   LIFE. 

even  walked  out.  She  had  been  so  interested  in  a 
book  she  had,  that  she  did  not  lay  it  down  all  the 
morning,  and  she  was  so  sorry  she  had  finished  it, 
she  had  nothing  left  to  do.  What  made  her  so 
tired,  was  nothing  to  do.  0  Hannah,  I  would 
rather  suffer  a  great  deal  than  be  Miss  Paxton !  " 

"  And  once  you  said  that  working  for  other 
people  would  make  me  happy,"  said  Hannah ; 
"you  wanted  me  to  work  for  Bessie,  for  Miss 
Elspeth." 

When  they  reached  the  garden  gate,  Amy  said, 
"  That  is  true,  Hannah ;  caring  for  others,  and 
working  for  them,  must  be  our  only  happiness." 

"  And  will  that  make  the  years  go  by  ?  "  asked 
Hannah. 

"  We  must  not  be  willing  they  should  go  by  any 
other  way/'  said  Amy,  "  whether  they  go  slow  or 
fast." 

Amy  walked  directly  home,  and  wondered  if  she 
must  look  back  to  her  own  words  for  consolation 
now.  She  wanted  consolation,  though  she  felt  she 
had  just  gained  a  very  great  happiness.  It  was  a 
happiness  that  came  attended  by  a  great  care. 
She  must  have  faith  in  the  future,  and  was  to 
nourish  it  by  a  cheerful  life  in  the  little  details 
that  to-day  and  to-morrow  must  bring. 

Evening  came,  and  Frank  came  out  to  say  that 
George  had  sailed,  and  he  only  wished  he  could 
be  going  too,  it  was  such  a  famous  vessel  and  such 
a  fine  long  voyage. 


CHAPTER    XII. 

CHANGE     AND     NO     CHANGE. 

HANNAH'S  five  years  did  pass  away.  They 
brought  little  change  on  the  outer  face  of  Lang- 
dale.  The  elm-trees  rose  a  little  higher  into  the 
heavens,  and  the  maples  had  spread/themselves 
more  widely.  The  vine  had  grown  thick  over 
Miss  Dora's  porch,  and  the  green  moss  had  spread 
on  the  roof  of  Mrs.  Bunce's  house.  The  shrubbery 
was  darker  and  closer  round  the  Paxtons',  and  the 
border  of  box  in  the  garden  stood  higher  and 
stiffer,  and  no  flowers  ventured  to  grow  in  the 
midst  of  its  shade.  There  was  very  little  change 
here  in  the  midst  of  the  village.  Further  up  the 
street,  Mr.  Fay's  grounds  had  been  cut  "up  into 
separate  building  lots,  and  where  his  wide  lawn 
lay,  were  as  many  as  seven  cottages  of  a  pretty 
pattern,- but  all  exactly  alike,  and  the  grand  old 
elm  that  stood  in  the  corner  had  been  cut  down  to 
make  way  for  some  stores,  and  in  that  part  of  the 
town  there  was  a  great  air  of  business  and  life. 

TVithin  the  houses,  the  change  had  been  for  the 


94  STRUGGLE   FOR  LIFE. 

most  part  slow  and  gradual.  Eleonora  Paxton  had 
been  married,  and  had  gone  to  Europe  with  her 
husband,  but  her  departure  had  left  no  great 
chasm  for  those  outside  of  the  Paxtons'  house. 
Mr.  Strange,  in  his  visits  to  Langdale,  and  at  the 
time  of  his  marriage  to  Eleonora,  had  created  a 
little  excitement  in  the  village.  lie  was  handsome, 
quite  handsome  enough  for  Eleonora.  Some  peo 
ple  thought  him  stiff,  some  elegant,  in  his  manners. 
Amy  thought  he  had  very  little  to  say  for  himself, 
or  for  anybody  else.  Though  she  did  not  say  so, 
she  felt  he  was  very  well  fitted  for  Eleonora.  If 
either  had  shown  any  warm,  expressive  feelings, 
they  would  have  been  checked  by  the  icy  chilli 
ness  of  the  other.  She  fancied  them  two  stately 
icebergs,  and  wondered  if  they  would  ever  be 
moved  into  the  current  of  a  warmer  sea. 

There  was  change  at  the  Rothsays.  The  old 
grandfather  had  died,  Mr.  Rothsay  had  been  unfor 
tunate  in  business,  and  had  been  growing  poorer 
and  poorer,  and  the  walks  around  the  house  showed 
the  need  of  attention  and  care.  There  was  still  a 
home  at  the  Rothsays  for  all  the  homeless.  Besides 
the  aunt  who  was  so  great  an  invalid,  a  widowed 
sister  of  Mr.  Rothsay,  Mrs.  Campbell,  with  her 
two  girls  and  her  boy,  came  to  live  there.  And 
Mrs.  Rothsay  herself  had  been  very  ill,  and  had 
never  recovered  her  strength  from  the  long  fever 
she  had.  But  Amy  was  still  joyous  and  lovely, 
and  one  would  say  she  looked  as  young  as  when 


CHANGE   AND   NO    CHANGE.  95 

she  first  welcomed  Miss  Elspeth  to  Langdale.  Per 
haps  her  gayety  might  be  called  cheerfulness,  but 
it  was  as  flowing  and  ready  as  when  she  was  six 
teen.  She  greeted  her  father  joyously  when  he 
came  out  from  town  weary  at  night;  she  had  a 
happy  sympathy  for  Frank  when  he  came  home 
Saturdays  from  Cambridge.  She  was  busy  always, 
everywhere,  and  at  home.  She  did  her  best  to 
weed  the  borders  in  the  large  old  garden  that 
missed  the  daily  care  of  a  gardener.  She  raked 
away  the  leaves  from  the  avenue  to  the  door  in 
autumn,  and  trained  the  vines  round  the  piazza  in 
sumifler.  While  within  the  house  there  were  many 
duties.  She  was  the  favorite  of  the  little  cousins 
whom  she  cared  for,  and  taught,  too,  and  the 
watchful  nurse  of  her  mother  and  the  invalid  aunt. 
She  did  not  neglect  Miss  Elspeth  and  her  house 
hold  in  the  many  cares  of  her  own.  She  was  still 
Miss  Elspeth's  confidant,  and  adviser  even,  and  the 
friend  of  the  children. 

With  the  children  there  was  no  marked  change. 
Bessie  was  scarcely  more  sober  or  quiet.  Her 
thick  brown  curls  and  fresh  color,  and  her  warm, 
loving  eyes,  made  her  still  the  beauty  of  the 
household,  and  helped  to  make  her  the  pet. 
Martha  was  still  very  wise  and  good,  and  still  kept 
Bessie's  overflowing  spirits  in  check.  Margie's 
eyes  were  large  and  dreamy  still.  She  loved  to 
read  all  the  books  that  she  could  find,  and,  even 
those  the  other  children  considered  the  dullest,  she 


96  STRUGGLE   FOR   LIFE. 

lingered  over,  making  of  them,  with  her  imagina 
tion,  something  very  entrancing. 

And  Hannah's  five  years  had  passed  away. 
They  had  added  a  little  to  her  height,  and  she  had 
grown  more  robust,  and  was  more  healthy  in  her 
appearance.  But  in  her  face  was  still  the  old 
expression,  that  eager,  wistful  questioning,  as  if 
there  were  something  within  her  still  unsatisfied. 
She  had  never  shown,  the  last  four  years,  any 
uneasiness  or  desire  to  go  away  from  Miss  Elspeth, 
and  she  had  displayed  more  personal  attachment 
for  both  Miss  Dora  and  Miss  Elspeth  as  the  time 
passed  on.  But  there  still  lingered  this  uncertain 
expression  in  her  face  which  the  first  ten  years  of 
a  wandering  life  had  marked  there,  and  that  so 
many  days  of  monotonous  duty  had  not  been  able 
to  drive  away. 

Miss  Elspeth  had  talked  with  Hannah  about  her 
plans  after  her  five  years  should  be  over.  Hannah 
had  been  to  school  every  winter,  and  had  lessons 
with  Amy  in  the  summer,  but  she  had  never  shown 
any  particular  aptitude  or  fondness  for  study. 
Martha,  and  even  Margie,  were  far  beyond  her  in 
many  of  their  school  acquirements.  Under  Miss 
Elspeth's  care,  she  had  learned  to  sew  excellently, 
and,  thanks  to  Miss  Dora's  surveillance,  she  was 
very  neat  and  methodical  about  all  household 
duties. 

What  should  Miss  Elspeth  do  with  her  ?  Martha 
was  old  enough  now  to  take  Hannah's  place  in  the 


CHANGE  AND  NO   CHANGE.  97 

house,  in  some  measure,  and  Hannah  ought,  for  her 
own  sake,  to  be  earning  some  wages.  This  Miss 
Elspeth  told  Hannah,  and  Hannah  listened  silently. 
After  a  day  or  two,  she  spoke  with  Miss  Elspeth. 
"  I  will  do  what  you  please,  Miss  Elspeth,"  she 
said ;  "  I  had  thought  when  the  five  years  were 
over,  I  \vould  go  somewhere  very  far  away.  I 
believed  that  in  five  years  I  should  be  very  differ 
ent,  somehow,  with  power  to  do  what  I  pleased.  I 
thought  I  could  .go  away,  and  take  care  of  myself. 
But  I  will  not  go  quite  yet.  I  should  like  to  earn 
some" money.  I  should  like  to  have  something  of 
my  own.  I  am  willing  to  work  for  it,  if  you  will 
tell  me  how." 

The  question  was  still  further  decided  when 
Amy  heard  what  was  under  discussion.  Then  she 
begged  that  Hannah  might  come  to  them  for  the 
summer  months.  She  had  been  thinking  they 
should  want  some  help  at  home,  through  the  sum 
mer,  when  they  had  so  much  company,  and  espe 
cially  now,  because  Katy  the  cook  was  not  well 
and  strong.  "  I'd  work  for  you  without  wages, 
you  know,"  said  Hannah  to  Amy.  But  Amy 
laughed,  arid  told  Hannah  she  was  quite  too  valu 
able  for  that.  And  very  valuable  Hannah's  ser 
vices  were.  Miss  Dora's  training  had  fitted  her 
for  many  kinds  of  household  experience.  She  was 
to  stay  with  the  Rothsays  through  the  summer 
months,  and  then  she  was  to  go  to  the  Carltons. 
Hannah  was  quite  in  demand  in  Langdale. 
7 


98  STRUGGLE  FOR  LIFE. 

One  day  she  was  dusting  the  parlor  at  the  Roth 
says,  tenderly,  as  was  her  wont.  Here,  on  the 
tables  and  the  mantelpiece,  were  many  treasures 
of  Amy's.  Hannah  had  observed  how  carefully 
Amy  treated  these,  and  she  felt  very  proud  when 
she  was  allowed  to  take  care  of  the  parlor.  Mrs. 
Rothsay  complained  sometimes  that  Hannah  lin 
gered  too  long  over  this  part  of  her  labors,  but  she 
was  touched  with  the  reverent  feeling  Hannah 
seemed  to  entertain  for  everything  in  the  room. 

Hannah  was  passing  her  duster  carefully  around 
the  frame  of  a  little  picture  as  Amy  came  into  the 
room  with  fresh  flowers. 

"  It  seems  many  years,  Miss  Amy,"  she  said, 
"  since  Mr.  George  drew  this  picture.  There's 
Miss  Dora  with  her  knitting  under  the  hemlock. 
She  looks  as  though  she  were  sitting  there  how. 
And  those  pine  cones  in  the  frame  !  I  remember 
when  Mr.  Frank  brought  them  home  as  if  it  were 
only  yesterday  !  Who  would  ever  have  thought 
Mr.  George  would  stay  away  so  long  ?  " 

"  We  could  not  have  believed  it  when  he  went 
away,"  said  Amy. 

"And  will  he  come  home  next  spring  ?  "  asked 
Hannah. 

"  So  we  think  ;  so  we  hope,"  answered  Amy. 

"  I  could  not  quite  think  your  letter  that  came 
the  other  day  told  you  Mr.  George  was  coming 
home,"  said  Hannah,  u  Miss  Amy,  you  have  been 
so  still  ever  since,  and  quiet ;  you  have  not  been 


CHANGE   AND   NO    CHANGE.  99 

round  the  house  singing  as  you  always  do.  I 
couldn't  help  thinking  about  you  that  something 
was  the  matter,  that  you  did  not  seem  like  your 
self." 

"Sometimes,"  said  Amy,  "it  makes  one  very 
quiet  to  be  very  happy.  And  to  look  forward  to 
next  spring,  seems  to  me  now  almost  as  long  as  to 
look  forward  a  year  five  years  ago." 

Amy  was  speaking  now  as  if  there  were  no  one 
listening  to  her  !  She  was  standing  before  the 
picture  Hannah  had  spoken  of,  and,  as  she  looked 
at  it,  the  tears  came  into  her  eyes.  "  I  have  had  a 
great  disappointment,  and  yet  I  am  infinitely 
happy,"  she  said.  "  Five  years  ago  I  wanted  to  be 
happy  just  one  way.  I  was  so  full  of  hope  that  I 
was  very  sure  I  could  only  be  happy  that  way.  If 
I  could  have  looked  forward  to  know  that  all  those 
hopes  would  have  utterly  faded,  my  heart  would 
have  died  out  within  me.  It  was  very  merciful 
that  I  could  see  but  one  step  before  me." 

"  But  you  could  not  be  unhappy,  Miss  Amy," 
exclaimed  Hannah.  "  Oh,  such  as  you  ought  to  be 
happy  every  way.  Can  you  talk  of  being  happy 
only  one  way  ?  It  is  such  as  I,  that  have  been 
picked  up  in  the  streets,  starving  and  homeless, 
that  think  of  only  one  way  to  be  happy,  and  that  is 
shut  out  after  all." 

"  You  make  me  ashamed,"  said  Amy,  kindly.  "I 
am  afraid  I  have  nourished  a  complaining  heart ! " 

"  You,  Miss  Amy,"  said  Hannah,  "  that  can  smile 


100  STRUGGLE   FOR  LIFE. 

for  everybody,  and  make  the  whole  house  so 
happy  !  Nobody  ever  saw  a  complaining  heart  in 
you.  In  Mrs.  Campbell's  sick-room,  dark  as  it  is, 
you  make  a  light  when  you  come  in.  And  every 
body  is  happy  just  to  look  at  you." 

"  I  have  been  cheerful,  Hannah,"  said  Amy,  "be 
cause  I  taught  myself  it  was  my  duty.  I  ought  to 
have  been  cheerful,  because  I  have  had  so  much 
given  me  to  enjoy.  But  look,  how  we  are  forget 
ting  our  work.  We  will  open  the  piano,  and  let 
us  set  this  vase  of  flowjers  just  above  the  open 
keys,  and  we  will  let  in  just  a  gleam  of  light 
through  the  window  here.  And  this  little  table, 
with  its  dish  of  gay  flowers,  shall  stand  by  the 
easy-chair  !  How  inviting  it  looks  !  Any  one  who 
came  into  such  a  pleasant  parlor  would  want  to 
stay.  The  room  looks  as  if  we  had  been  happy  in 
it !  We  must  make  that  same  air  linger  in  it  still. 
It  will  give  us  pleasure,  just  as  a  perfume  brings 
back  happy  remembrances.  But  we  must  go  to 
work,  and  when  we  get  through,  Hannah,  we  will 
sit  on  the  piazza,  with  our  sewing,  till  the  children 
come  home  from  the  woods,  and  I  will  tell  you 
what  has  been  troubling  me  the  last  five  years." 

It  was  strange,  perhaps,  that  Amy  should  choose 
Hannah  as  the  one  to  whom  she  could  tell  all  that 
she  had  scarcely  whispered  to  herself.  It  was  a 
kindly  feeling  that  led  her  to  do  so,  but  she  did 
not  know  herself  how  great  was  its  influence.  She 
did  not  know  how  much  strength  it  gives  to  forlorn 


CHANGE  AND  NO  CHANGE.         101 

and  lonely  hearts  to  be  called  upon  to  give  strength 
to  others,  to  feel  that  their  sympathy  is  esteemed 
precious,  or  worthy  to  be  asked  for  by  one  other. 
Many  persons  would  have  been  satisfied  with  giv 
ing  Hannah  her  wages  and  her  daily  food,  with 
seeing  that  she  was  clothed  well,  and  did  not  work 
too  hard.  Amy  instinctively  saw  that  she  needed, 
besides,  the  fresh  sympathy  of  some  one  near  her 
own  age,  that  she  felt  herself  alone  without  the 
support  of  any  special  class  of  friends  even,  and 
Amy  was  not  afraid  to  give  her  the  sympathy  and 
confidence  of  her  own  heart. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

DISAPPOINTMENT. 

GEORGE  had  made  the  voyage  to  Canton,  had  stayed 
there  the  appointed  year  ;  then  had  made  his  way 
to  Calcutta  ;  then,  quite  to  the  surprise  of  his  father 
and  Amy,  letters  came  from  him  from  Egypt.  From 
there  he  had  gone  to  Constantinople  and  Greece. 

"  You  cannot  think  how  fascinating  this  travelling 
is,"  he  wrote  to  Amy.  "  I  begin  at  the  East,  where 
the  world's  civilization  began,  and  am  coming  on 
towards  its  highest  point.  When  I  was  in  Egypt, 
studying  its  hieroglyphics,  I  could  imagine  myself 
living  in  the  time  of  the  Pyramids.  In  Athens,  I 
find  myself  far  advanced,  and  am  again  in  the  days 
when  the  grace  of  form  was  worshipped.  I  can 
dream  here  for  hours  and  days,  in  the  land  where 
once  dreams  were  life.  This  is  the  world  for  an 
artist,  Amy,  and  you  cannot  think  how  I  shudder  at 
the  activity  of  our  New  World,  that  hurries  the 
life  of  ages  into  single  days.  Americans  ought  to 
live  in  some  of  the  quicker  worlds,  in  Mercury,  for 
instance,  where  the  works  must  be  hurried  up  into 
such  short  days ;  for  me,  my  heaven  will  be  in  one 


DISAPPOINTMENT.  103 

of  the  slower  planets,  where  the  days  and  the  years 
are  long  enough  to  let  me  remember  I  am  living. 
I  like  to  watch  the  slow  growth  of  the  rosebud? 
and  am  willing  to  throw  away  the  full-blown  rose." 
At  last  George  reached  Italy. 

His  letters  were  filled  with  sketches  of  the 
groups  by  the  wayside  of  the  Italian  women,  the 
peasants,  the  shrines  of  the  Madonna,  with  kneeling 
figures  before  them.  And  it  was  not  merely  de 
scriptions  of  what  he  saw,  of  the  sky  and  the  moun 
tain  ridges,  the  flowers,  broad  plains,  or  the  pictures, 
storied  buildings,  and  old  cities,  which  he  sent  to 
Amy.  George  poured  out  to  her  too,  all  his  newly 
awakened  ideas  of  art  and  its  great  power.  He  no 
longer  contented  himself  with  theories  of  his  own, 
but  told  of  old  schools  with  new  enthusiasm  as  he 
was  in  turn  influenced  by  them. 

And  these  especially  rejoiced  Amy.  Now  she 
recognized  the  earnestness  that  used  to  inspire 
George  in  the  old  times,  and  that  these  last  few 
years  he  had  been  forgetting. 

She,  hoped  all  this  old  fervor  for  Art  was  coming 
back.  She  was  glad  to  have  him  in  Italy,  to  have 
him  awakened  and  roused  by  the  great  works  round 
him.  She  believed  it  would  stir  his  spirit,  so  that 
he  would  insist  upon  giving  up  all  lower  aims,  and 
devote  himself  to  Art  alone.  Then  he  would  come 
home  and  "  do  something  "  himself.  She  believed 
no  other  life  could  be  happy  for  him.  She  believed 
no  other  life  was  right  for  him  while  he  possessed 


104  STRUGGLE  FOE   LIFE. 

such  high  inspirations,  and  might  accomplish  such 
great  works. 

How  gladly  she  would  be  his  companion  then  1 
She  could  relieve  him  of  all  the  little  cares  of  life, 
and  work  for  him  in  its  trifling  details,  while  he  was 
working  in  its  higher  fields.  At  least  she  could 
admire  with  him  what  was  high  and  noble,  if  she 
could  not  labor  with  him  there.  She  could  be  his 
companion  in  his  hours  of  rest,  even  if  she  could 
not  be  with  him  in  his  higher  hours  of  study.  She 
busied  herself  in  thinking  how  she  could  make  it 
easy  for  him  to  make  great  and  noble  efforts  while 
she  was  struggling  with  the  lesser  duties  of  life. 

While  she  was  inspired  with  these  imaginings, 
all  her  own  daily  occupations  became  glorified. 
She  went  about  them  all  with  a  new  zeal  and  devo 
tion.  Before,  she  had  always  been  cheerful  and 
ready ;  now,  she  hastened  about  her  work  as  if  it 
were  a  real  privilege  to  be  allowed  to  work.  Per 
haps  this  devotion  seemed  scarcely  different  to 
those  around  her  from  her  usual  manner,  but  with 
herself,  her  hopefulness  gave  a  wonderful  ease  to 
all  she  did.  The  happy  smile  and  the  cheerful  word 
for  others  came,  not  because  she  thought  them 
their  due,  but  out  of  her  willing  spirit  that  could 
not  be  otherwise  than  glad.  The  days  were  like 
clear  summer  days.  Even  the  struggles  and  the 
labor  that  came  with  them  were  like  the  easy 
growth  of  plants  beneath  the  warm,  sunshine  and 
fed  by  the  moist  earth. 


DISAPPOINTMENT.  105 

It  was  in  the  midst  of  these  happy  dreamings, 
giving  fresh  activity  to  her  daily  life,  that  Mr.  Ar 
nold,  George's  father,  came  to  Langdale.  He  told 
Amy  that  he  wanted  to  speak  to  her  alone,  and  they 
walked  out  through  the  garden  path  quite  into  the 
woods  where  he  talked  to  Amy  about  George. 
He  said  to  her  that  George  had  been  wasting  the 
few  last  years  of  his  life.  He  had  no  objection  to 
George's  travelling  for  the  purpose  of  travelling, 
though  he  should  have  hesitated  to  grant  his 
request  for  a  few  years'  travel,  if  George  had 
made  such  before  he  went  away.  But  George's 
connection  with  business  had  been  for  a  long  time 
merely  nominal.  He  thought  such  a  pretended  oc 
cupation  was  worse  than  doing  nothing.  George 
was  no  longer  a  boy,  and  it  was  time  for  him  to 
have  fitted  himself  for  some  business  in  life.  He 
wrote  George  so,  a  year  or  two  ago,  when  he  was 
lounging  away  his  time  in  the  East  Indies.  He  was 
not  doing  much  better  now,  and  two  more  years 
had  passed  away.  Mr.  Arnold  said  he  knew  how 
great  was  Amy's  influence  with  George.  He  was 
very  proud  of  it,  it  was  his  greatest  hope  with  re 
gard  to  George,  and  he  wanted  to  urge  her  to  use 
it  to  compel  him  to  give  up  the  aimless  life  he  was 
leading.  It  was  time,  long  ago,  for  George  to  begin 
to  think  of  his  own  prospects,  it  was  certainly  his 
duty  now.  He  went  on  at  some  length  to  show  in 
what  a  position  George  might  have  been  if  he  had 
stayed  at  Canton  and  made  a  proper  use  of  his  ad- 


106  STRUGGLE   FOB   LIFE. 

vantages,  and  fortunately  it  was  not  too  late  now 
for  him  to  go  back  to  his  friends  there,  who  would 
gladly  nelp  him  if  he  would  show  any  interest  in 
business,  and  devote  himself  to  their  affairs. 

Amy  listened  to  Me.  Arnold  in  the  same  quiet 
wood  where  so  many  times  she  had  heard  George 
tell  over  his  plans  for  life,  and  paint  his  glorious 
ambitions.  As  she  stood  there,  she  felt  as  young 
as  she  did  then,  though  that  time  was  so  many 
years  ago.  She  had  the  same  warm  hopes  and 
buoyant  energy,  but  she  saw  suddenly  that  the 
time  for  hoping  and  dreaming  had  passed  away. 
There  was  no  longer  time  to  say,  "  We  will  do  so 
in  the  future,  or  build  gay  castles  to-morrow,"  — 
the  journey  was  no  longer  to  be  talked  over  and 
planned,  but  already  it  should  be  begun,  for  the 
day  was  far  risen,  and  the  traveller  should  be  tip 
and  on  his  way. 

The  old  oak,  whose  leaves  were  gently  swaying 
in  the  wind,  had  heard  all  the  talk  of  youthful 
enthusiasm,  and  now  was  waiting  to  see  the  fruit 
of  such  great  plans  and  purposes.  Amy  looked 
round  wistfully,  She  wished  that  George  himself 
might  appear  to  vindicate  himself,  to  show  at  once 
that  these  years  of  waiting  had  only  been  prepar 
ing  him  for  greater  duties  than  these  that  his 
father  would  lay  out  for  him.  Since  she  had  not 
George's  voice  to  aid  her,  she  took  up  his  cause 
herself.  She  spoke  of  how  much  Italy  was  doing 
for  George  now ;  of  his  letters  to  her  that  had 


DISAPPOINTMENT.  107 

shown  ho  had  been  awakened  and  roused  by  the 
sight  of  works  of  genius.  She  told  what  she 
hoped  for  George ;  how  much  such  minds  were 
needed  in  America;  how  much  he  might  do  for 
his  native  country.  She  spoke  of  his  genius,  and 
ploaded  that  such  natures  as  his  needed  a  longer 
time  for  ripening,  and  a  different  treatment  from 
others. 

"  If  he  will  only  be  an  artist,"  said  Mr.  Arnold, 
"  I  shall  be  more  than  content.  But  do  you  not 
see  by  his  letters  that  he  is  dreaming  away  his 
life,  just  as  he  did  in  America?  I  can't  make  out 
that  he  has  touched  pencil  or  canvas  since  he  left 
home." 

"  But  such  letters  as  he  writes  ! "  pleaded  Amy  ; 
"  they  show  how  he  observes  everything." 

"  Yes,  I  had  some  long  letters  from  him  about 
Egypt,"  said  Mr.  Arnold,  "  and  I  carried  them  to 
Mr.  Percy,  a  great  student  in  such  things,  and 
talked  to  him  about  publishing  them,  but  he  says 
it  has  all  been  written  before,  and  I  know  very 
well  George  wouldn't  have  the  industry  to  apply 
himself  to  give  one  lecture  on  the  Pj^ramids.  All 
his  observation  is  of  no  use  to  him.  Don't  you 
see,  he  is  merely  amusing  himself,  while  the  rest 
of  us  are  working  ?  " 

Mr.  Arnold  wanted  her  to  urge  a  new  proposal 
of  his  to  George,  to  go  directly  back  to  Canton. 
Amy  promised  to  present  to  him  his  father's 
wishes,  and  agreed  that  he  ought  to  come  to  some 


108  STBUGGLE   FOE   LIFE. 

decision;  but  she  confessed  that  she  should  her 
self  wish  to  urge  him  to  give  up  all  idea  of  becom 
ing  a  business  man,  and  devote  himself  to  the  life 
of  an  artist  with  eagerness  and  industry.  In  the 
end,  Mr.  Arnold  agreed  to  this.  He  wanted 
George  to  be  something,  anything  but  an  idle 
wanderer,  and  with  many  affectionate  words  to 
Amy,  he  left  Langdale. 

-  Amy  wrote  an  earnest  letter  to  George.  She 
detailed  her  conversation  with  his  father,  and  prof, 
fered  carefully  his  plans  and  desires,  but  she 
showed  him  earnestly  what  were  the  wishes  of 
her  own  heart.  "  But  only  show  your  father," 
she  said,  "  that  you  have  in  you  some  of  that 
impulse,  some  of  the  spark  of  the  genius  that  you 
and  I  have  loved  to  fancy  in  you.  The  thought  of 
it  inspires  me,  and  -I  am  convinced  it  must  lift  and 
rouse  you.  These  last  few  years  you  have  been 
struggling  under  the  lead  of  two  masters.  Only 
determine  now  to  follow  after  the  one  you  love. 
I  know  that  if  only  once  you  give  yourself  up  to 
such  a  master,  you  will  find  happiness  and  success. 
But  you  must  enter  into  his  service,  be  willing  to 
be  trained,  and  to  submit  your  life  to  your  art. 
How  foolish  of  me  to  be  advising  and  counselling 
you  !  I  never  ventured  to  preach  to  you  before. 
You  have  always  been  higher  up  than  I,  and  have 
given  me  strength.  How  I  should  like  to  give 
you  back  some  of  that  strength  !  Such  a  help  as 


DISAPPOINTMENT.  109 

it  has  been  to  me  to  have  one  great  and  noble  aim. 
It  has  made  a  joyful  service  out  of  drudgery. 

"  The  poor  little  Hannah  who  is  with  us,  now 
goes  about  her  work  every  day  as  if  there  were  no 
object  but  just  to  get  it  over.  She  must  sweep 
the  steps,  must  clean  the  knives,  etc.,  go  from  one 
labor  on  to  another,  because  it  is  the  every-day 
labor.  Poor  child !  she  thinks  of  nothing  but  the 
work.  But  when  I  think  of  what  I  am  living  for, 
I  find  a  special  inspiration  in  each  separate  detail. 
It  seems  like  arranging  the  flowers  for  a  dear 
friend,  and  training  the  vines  over  the  old  arbor. 
Each  trifling  duty  is  helping  to  ornament  the  life 
of  others,  —  even  the  caring  for  their  daily  food. 
I  think  each  day,  this  is  my  art  that  I  must  bring 
to  its  perfection  joyfully  and  cheerfully.  It  is 
very  far  down,  very  far  below  what  must  inspire 
you  ;  nevertheless,  it  must  be  my  inspiration. 

"  Work  on  a  little  while,  only  work,  dear  George. 
Send  home  something  to  show  you  have  been 
laboring.  However  small  it  is,  your  father  will  be 
proud  of  it,  —  we  shall  all  be  proud.  We  shall 
look  forward  to  your  coming  home,  when  you  will 
be  able  to  teach  us.  You  will  raise  us  out  of  our 
little  duties,  by  the  great  works  which  are  yours. 
We  are  all  of  us  workers  here ;  that  won't  harm  us 
if  we  can  only  have  one  of  the  "  High  Art "  work 
ers  among  us  too. 

"And  such  words  remind  me  of  the  old  days 
under  the  oak-tree  — " 


110  STRUGGLE  FOR  LIFE. 

Amy's  letter  had  a  great  effect,  very  different 
from  what  she  had  imagined.  She  waited  impa 
tiently  to  hear  from  George,  and  a  letter  came. 
He  was  on  his  way  back  to  Canton.  "  I  am  going 
back,"  he  wrote,  "  that  I  may  do  something."  "  You 
were  right  Amy,  in  telling  me  to  submit  myself  to 
a  master.  But  you  were  wrong  and  I  was  wrong 
in  fancying  that  I  could  follow  the  inspiration  of  a 
great  master.  Alas !  I  have  not  the  patience  nor 
the  industry  that  the  disciples  of  such  a  master 
need.  I  have  wasted  a  great  many  years,  the  fault 
is  not  in  my  circumstances  but  in  myself.  If  the 
true  genius  had  been  in  me,  long  ago  I  should  have 
shown  it  by  my  patient  study  of  the  art  I  loved. 
Instead  of  sitting  and  dreaming  of  high  ideas,  I 
should  have  begun  to  carry  them  out,  rudely  per 
haps,  but  somehow.  I  have  been  learning  this 
sadly,  the  more  sadly  the  more  I  have  enjoyed  the 
inspirations  of  true  genius.  These  came  only  to 
men  who  were  willing  to  labor,  not  to  those  who 
were  idly  drinking  in  the  delights  of  life.  Your 
labor,  Amy,  that  you  speak  of  so  humbly,  has  been 
high  and  glorious  in  comparison  with  my  idle 
dreamings.  It  is  the  thought  of  that  labor  of  yours 
that  rouses  me  now  into  activity.  I  am  going  to 
work,  not  in  the  way  we  thought  of  and  dreamed. 
No,  I  cannot  go  borne  a  great  artist.  How  should 
I  dare  to  hope  for  so  great  a  glory  as  that,  when  I 
have  not  the  self-denial,  nor  the  patience,  that  could 
devote  me  to  so  glorious  a  work  ? 


DISAPPOINTMENT.  Ill 

"  A  pretty  group  there  is  below.  Such  a  color 
as  this  sky  has  here,  and  so  wonderful  the  atmos 
pheric  effect !  It  colors  up  everything  it  touches  ! 

"  But  then  I  can  go  home  and  work.  If  I  cannot 
ehow  any  great  works,  I  will  show  how  to  work. 
We  will  both  of  us  work  with  an  object,  to  make 
labor,  and  trial,  and  struggle  grand,  and  full  of 
beauty  too."  Then  followed  his  plans  for  crossing 
the  desert,  and  sketches  of  groups  of  camels  being- 
loaded,  with  an  imaginary  picture  of  an  oasis,  and 
himself  drinking  from  a  fountain  under  the  trees, 
the  fountain  taking  the  form  of  the  old  pump  in  the 
Rothsays'  yard. 

This  letter  Amy  had  received  some  months  ago. 
Since  then  she  had  seen  Mr.  Arnold  again.  He  ex 
pressed  himself  pleased  that  George  had  returned 
to  a  merchant's  life,  and  with  his  new  determinations. 
He  only  hoped  this  would  not  prove  a  new  freak 
of  George's,  and  that  he  would  hold  on  it  a  year  at 
least.  He  expected  to  hear  of  him  in  Australia, 
next,  or  San  Francisco.  He  was  much  obliged  to 
Amy  for  her  influence,  and  hoped  George  would 
not  tire  her  out  at  last. 

Amy  thought  it  unkind  that  Mr.  Arnold  could 
not  receive  mo  re  thankfully  the  sacrifice  that  George 
had  made.  But  she  was  not  discouraged  by  his 
forebodings.  She  was  sadly  disheartened  that 
George  had  been  able  to  give  up  all  his  cherished 
hopes  and  aspirations.  She  feared  he  would  repent 
sometime  a  determination  he  had  made  in  a  moment 


112  STRUGGLE   FOR   LIFE. 

of  despair.  If  she  could  only  have  seen  him,  only 
have  known  more  certainly  if  this  renunciation  of 
his  were  a  willing  one. 

The  letters  that  came  to  her  afterward  from 
George,  helped  her  to  this  certainty.  They  were 
in  a  happy  tone,  and  showed  at  the  same  time  a 
strength  of  purpose  that  she  had  not  missed  before, 
but  that  gave  her  a  new  encouragement.  His  let 
ters  were  shorter  and  more  concise.  They  showed 
he  was  becoming  a  business  man.  She  confessed 
to  herself  they  were  more  manly  in  tone,  while  she 
detected  in  herself  a  half  mournful  feeling  at  the 
change.  Lately  he  had  spoken  of  coming  home, 
and  there  had  been  some  talk  of  his  coming  back 
in  the  spring.  Ever  since  he  had  been  gone,  his 
letters  to  Amy  and  to  Frank  had  given  promises  of 
his  coming  home  "  next  spring "  or  "  next  fall." 
This  was  enough  to  satisfy  the  frequent  inquiries 
of  the  neighbors  at  Langdale  who  wanted  to  know 
when  George  Arnold  was  to  come  back,  and  won 
dered  if  he  would  marry  Amy  on  his  return,  think 
ing  it  a  great  pity  that  she  should  wait  for  him. 

His  last  letter  had  told  Amy  that  he  should  cer 
tainly  return  next  spring,  and  to  stay.  It  was 
nearly  arranged  that  he  should  be  settled  in  New 
York  with  a  branch  of  the  firm  there.  There  was 
more  certainty  about  this  letter  than  any  she  had 
received  before,  and  she  might  allow  herself  to  ex 
pect  him  home  again.  How  different  a  return  his 
would  be  from  what  she  had  planned,  and  yet  how 


DISAPPOINTMENT.  '  113 

happy  the  thought  of  it  made  her !  It  was  a  still 
happiness  that  she  believed  could  not  be  moved, 
because  she  had  so  many  years  been  training  her 
self  to  the  thought  that  only  that  would  be  given 
her  which  was  best  for  her  and  those  she  loved. 

8 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

THE   EICH  AND   POOR. 

AMY  sat  upon  the  piazza  with  her  work.  Han 
nah,  too,  was  sitting  on  the  steps  of  the  piazza 
with  a  long  seam  before  her,  upon  which  she  was 
sewing  with  the  care  and  precision  Miss  Elspeth 
had  taught  her. 

"  I  don't  know  how  I  am  to  get  along  after  I 
leave  here,  Miss  Amy,"  said  Hannah ;  "  those  boys 
at  the  Carltons  are  so  rude.  Yesterday,  when  I 
passed  the  garden,  they  were  throwing  stones  at 
the  passers-by." 

"I  am  afraid  you  will  find  it  hard,"  said  Amy: 
"It  won't  be  at  all  like  Miss  Elspeth's  well  or 
dered  household,  nor  even  like  our  busy  one. 
Mrs.  Carlton  has  no  command  over  the  children, 
and  poor  Bertha  is  so  sick  now  that  she  cannot 
control  them." 

"  I  don't  believe  I'd  better  go,  Miss  Amy,"  said 
Hannah;  "I  know  those  boys  will  make  me  angry." 

"  It  won't  be  pleasant,"  said  Am}7,  "  but  wher 
ever  you  go,  Hannah,  you  will  not  find  every  one 
so  kind  and  considerate  as  Miss  Elspeth." 


THE   RICH   AND   POOR.  115 

"  Nor  any  one  that  will  talk  so  to  me  as  you  do, 
Miss  Amy,"  said  Hannah ;  "  I  remember  when  I 
used  to  see  Janet  so  much,  I  saw  thaj;  they  treated 
her  at  the  Paxtons'  as  if  they  thought  she  had  not 
any  feelings  in  her.  I  did  not  think  much  about 
it  then,  but  since  then  the  blood  rises  up  in  me  to 
remember  it.  They  would  talk  to  her  as  if  she 
were  a  stone,  or  no  more  than  a  brute." 

"  Oh,  there  are  not  many  persons  so  unkind  as 
that,"  said  Amy,  "  but  there  a  great  many  who  are 
very  thoughtless,  and  forget  to  speak  gently  and 
kindly." 

"  They  think  us  a  different  race,"  Hannah  broke 
out ;  "  worse  than  that,  they  think  us  like  the 
brute  beasts,  and  would  like  to  trample  us  down. 
But  some  day,  oh,  some  day,  I  would  like  to  get 
the  better  of  them,  and  show  them  how  I  would 
look  down  on  their  pride." 

"  Hannah,  what  do  you  mean  ?  "  exclaimed  Amy, 
surprised ;  "  who  are  the  people  you  are  talking 
of?" 

"  Oh,  the  people  out  in  the  world,  who  are 
oppressing  the  poor,  and  keeping  them  down," 
said  Hannah. 

u  Hannah,  you  don't  know  any  such  people ; 
think  of  Miss  Elspeth,"  Amy  said. 

"  I  do  think  of  her,  and  of  you,  and  of  Miss  Dora 
too ;  she  speaks  hard,  but  she  does  not  think 
hard.  But  the  Paxtons,  —  what  right  have  they 
to  live  in  a  great  house,  with  sofas  and  couches, 


116  STRUGGLE   FOR   LIFE. 

more  than  they  have  time  to  lie  upon,  day  after 
day ;  and  poor  ragged  girls  and  children  begging 
from  step  to  step,  that  have  not  father  or  mother 
to  take  care  of  them  ?  " 

"  It  seems  strange,  —  a  great  contrast/'  said 
Amy ;  "  but  what  right  have  we  to  sit  here  so 
comfortably,  with  this  pleasant  air  about  us,  and 
these  vines  and  trees  shading  us,  —  what  right 
have  you  and  I,  Hannah,  to  sit  here  so  quietly, 
when  there  are  so  many  working  hard,  or,  what  is 
worse,  wanting  work  and  food,  not  far  away  from 
us  ?  It  is  a  hard  question  to  answer." 

"  You  and  I !  "  said  Hannah  ;  "  what  can  we 
do?" 

"  And  what  can  they  do  ?  the  Paxtons,  as  you 
call  them,"  asked  Amy ;  "  what  would  all  the 
money  they  spend  every  year  do  for  the  deal  of 
trouble  just  in  Boston  here  ?  Alas !  they  do  not 
know  what  to  do  to  help  all  these  poor  people, 
more  than  you  and  I.  I  do  not  say  they  do  their 
utmost, — people  say  the  Paxtons  are  not  kind  and 
charitable  to  the  poor.  But  we  cannot  judge. 
Do  we  do  all  that  we  can?  At  least,  let  us  be 
charitable  in  our  thoughts  to  them." 

"  Let  them  have  all  their  splendid  furniture,  and 
mirrors,  and  dresses,"  said  Hannah,  "  if  they  would 
only  think  of  somebody  else,  —  if  they  would  not 
believe  themselves  to  be  at  the  top  of  the  world 
and  we  all  below." 

"  Every  rich  person  is  not  of  this  sort,  Hannah," 


THE  RICH  AND  POOR.  t  117 

said  Amy ;  "  we  read  in  some  story-books  of  two 
classes,  the  tyrants  and  the  oppressed.  It  is  not 
so  where  we  live.  Here  are  a  great  many  differ 
ent  people,  and  most  have  kind  feelings,  though  all 
don't  show  it." 

"  I  feel  as  if  everybody  hated  me  and  mine," 
said  Hannah,  "  except  some  few." 

"  But  that  feeling  you  must  give  up  as  soon  as 
possible,  Hannah,"  said  Amy  ;  "  it  is  not  true,  it  is 
only  in  your  imagination.  I  don't  know  what  can 
have  put  it  there.  Even  at  the  Carltons  you  won't 
find  that  hatred  nor  that  sort  of  treatment." 

"Oh,  Miss  Amy,  with  all  those  boys!"  exclaimed 
Hannah. 

"  Five  boys  in  one  house  are  never  very  quiet, 
nor  all  gentle  and  considerate  in  their  manners," 
answered  Amy ;  "  I  know  it  will  be  hard  to  bear 
with  them,  but  they  will  give  you  no  worse  treat 
ment  than  they  give  to  everybody." 

"  I'm  afraid  I  shan't  stand  it,"  said  Hannah. 

"  It  is  very  provoking,  I  know,"  said  Amy. 
"  Last  winter,  when  I  slipped  down  on  the  ice 
in  front  of  the  Carltons'  gate,  it  was  provoking 
enough  to  have  Freddy  Carlton  standing  there 
laughing  at  me.  He  did  not  help  me,  either. 
My  muff  flew  off  one  way,  and  my  bundles  another, 
and  all  the  time  he  was  making  laughing  speeches 
about  me." 

"  Oh,  if  I  had  been  there,  Miss  Amy ! "  exclaimed 
Hannah. 


118  STRUGGLE   FOR  LIFE. 

"Well,  ther3  was  nothing  to  be  done  about  it," 
said  Amy,  "  so  I  tried  to  remember  that  he  was 
the  same  boy  that  saved  the  child  from  drowning  a 
little  while  before.  They  said,  you  know,  that  he 
stood  on  the  ice  holding  up  the  child  a  long  time, 
till  help  could  come  to  him." 

"  I  haven't  forgot  it,  Miss  Amy ;  and  it  was  an 
Irish  boy  too." 

"  Agnes  Carlton  has  come  home  from  school 
now,"  continued  Amy,  "  and  she  ought  to  be  able 
to  do  something  for  her  brothers  ;  but  she  is  not 
like  Bertha.  I  am  afraid  she  is  thoughtless,  and 
she  has  been  away  from  home  so  much  she  has  lost 
all  home  feeling." 

"  Miss  Bertha  looks  to  me  like  a  picture,"  said 
Hannah,  "  like  the  picture  of  a  beautiful  angel." 

"  Bertha  has  had  a  hard  life  the  last  few  years," 
said  Amy ;  "  she  has  been  weak  and  sick,  but  has 
never  been  willing  to  tell  any  one  of  it.  Her 
mother  thinks  of  nothing  but  sewing  all  day  long, 
and  occupies  herself  so,  she  never  has  seen  how 
much  care  Bertha  has  needed,  till  all  at  once 
Bertha  has  broken  down,  and  everybody  sees  now 
how  ill  she  is." 

"  She  looks  as  if  she  came  directly  from  the  sky, 
only  to  go  back  there,"  said  Hannah. 

"  0  Hannah,  it  would  be  very  hard  for  me  to 
part  with  Bertha,"  exclaimed  Amy ;  "  I  cannot 
think  of  it  yet.  Bertha  was  older  than  I  at  school. 
She  used  to  help  me  every  way.  She  never  said 


THE   RICH   AND    POOR.  119 

much,  but  helped  me  by  being  so  good  herself.  I 
like  to  think  of  your  going  there,  Hannah,  you 
will  be  able  to  do  so  much  for  Bertha." 

"  I  can  go  up  stairs  and  down  j  I  can  fetch  and 
carry  for  her,"  said  Hannah,  gloomily. 

"  You  will  do  more  than  that,  Hannah,"  said 
Amy ;  "  it  is  very  hard  for  any  one  like  Bertha  to 
call  for  help  from  others.  She  has  always  thought 
so  little  of  herself  that  it  pains  her  now  to  ask 
help  of  any  one  else.  If  you  give  her  a  willing, 
ready  service,  you  will  do  her  a  deal  of  good." 

"  And  Mrs.  Carlton,  she'll  be  wanting  me  for 
other  things." 

"  And  the  boys  will  order  you  round  for  this  and 
that,"  said  Amy,  "  and  Mrs.  Carlton  will  want  to 
keep  you  at  your  sewing.  You  must  be  ready  for 
them  all, — '  Up  stairs,  and  down  stairs,  and  in  my 
lady's  chamber,'  — but  if  you  have  a  heart  for  it, 
you  will  find  time  to  be  caring  for  the  fire  in 
Bertha's  room,  and  making  sure  that  all  is  cheerful 
there.  You  will  ask  her  often  through  the  day 
what  you  can  bring  her,  and  find  out  in  time  how 
to  bring  her  what  she  wants  without  her  asking. 
Even  if  you  are  kept  constantly  at  work,  sewing  or 
sweeping,  you  will  find  some  time  to  help  her." 

"  It  is  hard  work  you  are  laying  out  for  me,  Miss 
Amy,"  said  Hannah. 

"  I  know  it,  but  you  have  been  working  every 
moment  of  the  day  at  Miss  Dora's,"  answered 
Amy ;  "  you  can't  work  more  than  that  at  the 


120  STRUGGLE   FOR   LIFE. 

Carltons,  and  the  work  will  be  all  the  easier  if  you 
are  only  willing  arid  ready." 

"  I  know  that  is  the  way  you  work,  Miss  Amy," 
said  Hannah ;  "  you  go  into  Mrs.  Campbell's  room 
to  put  it  all  to  rights,  and  before  you  are  half 
through,  they  call  you  into  your  mother's  room, 
and  when  you  are  busy  there,  somebody  wants 
you  in  the  kitchen ;  and  then  the  children  are 
ready  for  their  lessons,  or  Master  Sammy  has  tum 
bled  down  stairs,  and  you  must  comfort  him. 
Everything  is  done,  and  you  have  time  for  all,  and 
always  are  smiling  and  making  fun  of  it  all  as  if  it 
were  a  frolic." 

"  Ah,  well,  is  not  it  easier  so  ?  "  asked  Amy. 

"  It  is  very  easy  for  you,"  sighed  Hannah,  "  but 
not  for  me." 

"  And  why  not  ?  "  said  Amy. 

"  Because  they  all  love  you,  and  you  love  them. 
You  are  precious  to  them.  Who  will  care  for  me 
at  the  Carltons'  ?  "  said  Hannah. 

"Who  has  cared  for  you  all  along?"  asked  Amy; 
"  and  listen,  who  are  they  that  are  shouting  for 
you  now  ?  Bessie,  and  Martha,  and  Margie ;  I 
think  they  are  coming  for  you  to  go  to  walk,  and 
it  will  be  good  for  you  to  air  some  of  your  gloomy 
thoughts.  Now  they  are  stopping  a  minute ;  Miss 
Dora  has  called  them  back  for  something.  Per 
haps  Bessie  has  forgotten  to  lock  the  back  door,  or 
Miss  Elspeth  has  summoned  her  for  some  errand. 
Why,  Hannah  1  have  you  forgotten  us  all  here  ? 
You  are  precious  to  all  of  us  ?  " 


THE   RICH   AND   POOR.  121 

"  But  there  ?  "  persisted  Hannah. 

"We  shall  see  you  often,"  said  Amy;  "and  Han 
nah,  if  you  are  in  any  trouble,  you  must  speak  to 
Bertha.  She  will  feel  for  you  kindly,  I  know. 
And  think,  Hannah,  perhaps  some  day  it  will  be 
such  a  comfort  to  look  back  upon  what  you  have 
done  for  Bertha." 

There  was  a  great  uproar  of  voices,  for  Bessie, 
and  Martha,  and  Margie  were  coming,  and  Bessie 
insisted  on  climbing  the  fence  that  separated  the 
two  houses,  and  then  she  came  running  up  the 
grassy  bank,  her  bonnet  falling  back  from  her 
head,  while  she  shouted  with  delight. 

"  Oh  !  come  into  the  woods,  everybody  !  Miss 
Elspeth  says  we  may  go  if  Hannah  will,  and  you'll 
come  too,  Amy." 

"  Hannah  will  go,  but  I  must  stay  for  the  chil 
dren." 


CHAPTER   XV. 

AN   OLD   FRIEND. 

THE  little  party  made  its  way  into  the  woods, 
telling  over  to  Hannah  the  events  of  the  day;  how 
Margie  had  made  her  first  pudding,  how  Miss  Els- 
peth  was  really  to  have  the  sewing  circle,  and  how 
they  all  meant  to  find  something  in  the  woods  to 
ornament  the  parlor  with,  when  that  great  day 
should  come.  Miss  Dora  had  objected ;  but  then 
she  objected  to  everything;  and  Martha  had  prom 
ised,  if  they  could  have  flowers  in  the  room,  she 
would  pick  up  eveiy  single  green  thing  that  fell 
upon  the  carpet.  Martha  was  the  thoughtful  one 
of  the  household  now.  She  was  fond  of  study, 
and  hoped  she  might  be  a  teacher  sometime,  if  she 
could  only  learn  enough.  Meanwhile,  she  made 
the  best  of  every  moment's  time,  and  had  her  vol 
ume  of  botany  under  her  arm  now. 

"  I  think  it's  a  shame,"  said  Bessie,  "  to  carry 
books  into  the  woods.  We  have  enough  of  them 
in  the  houso,  and  I  um  sure  there  is  plenty  to  look 
at  when  we  are  out  among  the  trees." 

"  But  I  am  determined,"  said  Martha,  "  to  find 


AN    OLD    FRIEND.  123 

out  the  name  of  that  new  flower  we  saw  the  other 
day.  It  was  so  withered  I  could  not  make  it  out 
from  that  specimen  at  all." 

"I  think  'lily'  was  a  very  good  name  for  it," 
said  Bessie.  "I  don't  believe  I  can  pronounce  its 
long  Latin  name,  when  you  find  it." 

"  There  are  a  great  many  kinds  of  lilies,"  said 
Martha,  "  and  if  I  can  find  the  flower's  real  name,  I 
can  read  about  it  in  the  book,  and  I  dare  say  you 
will  be  glad  to  hear  about  it." 

"  That  it  flowers  the  end  of  August,"  said  Bessie, 
"  and  we  know  that  already;  and  that  it  is  found  on 
the  edge  of  swamps,  and  that  Miss  Dora  knows, 
because  I  brought  some  of  the  mud  into  the 
kitchen  the  day  we  found  it." 

"  There's  one  now,  I  declare,"  exclaimed  Martha, 
as  she  ran  away  from  the  path,  and  out  through  the 
broad  hemlocks. 

Very  soon  the  whole  party  were  busy.  Martha 
was  comparing  the  flowers  she  found  with  the 
descriptions  in  her  book.  Margie  had  discovered 
a  real  fairy's  haunt.  She  was  sure  it  must  be. 
There  was  the  ring  in  the  grass  where  they  had 
danced  the  night  before,  and  a  purple  mushroom 
in  the  middle,  that  must  have  been  the  queen's 
throne.  She  set  herself  to  look  for  some  remnant 
of  the  feast,  for  Oberon's  mushroom,  for  she  was 
sure  he  must  have  been  there  too.  Bessie  was 
quiet  for  some  minutes.  She  was  watching  a  squir 
rel.  If  she  could  only  be  still  enough  not  to  frighten 


124  STRUGGLE   FOR   LIFE. 

him,  she  could  find  out  where  his  hole  was,  and  see 
if  he  had  any  of  last  winter's  nuts  there. 

LTannah  was  the  only  one  not  busy.  She  waited 
a  little  while  for  the  others,  then  walked  down  the 
path  that  led  to  the  station.  A  train  of  cars  from 
Boston  had  just  left  the  station,  to  go  on  farther. 
Hannah  fancied  she  recognized  a  girl,  about  her 
own  size,  who  was  lingering  on  the  platform.  The 
girl  had  seen  her,  and  presently  beckoned  to  her, 
and  came  hastening  to  where  Hannah  stood. 

"Janet,  is  that  you?"  exclaimed  Hannah. 

"  Yes,  it's  me,"  said  Janet,  hurrying  up  the  bank, 
"  and  you're  the  person  I've  come  to  see.  I  wanted 
to  see  you  in  a  hurry,  too,  for  I'm  going  right  into 
town  again  in  the  next  cars." 

"  Where  have  you  been  all  this  long  time,  and 
what  are  you  doing?"  asked  Hannah. 

"Well,  don't  you  think  I'm  getting  on  in  the 
world?  What  do  you  think  of  my  bonnet?  What 
would  Mrs.  Paxton  say  to  it?"  exclaimed  Janet. 
"  Well,  I'm  not  the  same  Janet  that  she  used  to  or 
der  round." 

"  Where  have  you  been  since  you  went  away  so 
suddenly  from  Mrs.  Paxton's?"  asked  Hannah. 

"Well,  I  left  the  Paxtons  without  asking  them," 
said  Janet. 

"  Miss  Nora  is  married,"  said  Hannah. 

"Dear  me;  who  has  she  married?"  said  Janet. 

"  Nobody  that  you  know  about,"  said  Hannah. 


AN    OLD    FRIEND.  125 

.1 

"  Well,  never  mind,  I  want  to  talk  to  you.  I've 
a  proposal  to  make  to  you.  Is  not  that  grand  ?  " 

"  But  I  can't  stop,  Janet ;  there  are  the  children," 
said  Hannah. 

"  Oh,  never  mind  the  children,"  said  Janet,  "  they 
won't  spoil ;  I  can  hear  their  voices  close  by.  Bes 
sie's  as  tall  as  you  now.  She  can  take  care  of  her 
self." 

"  You  can  come  into  the  woods  with  me,"  said 
Hannah. 

"  No,  I  can't,"  answered  Janet ;  "  sit  down  here 
on  this  stone  with  me.  You  were  asking  me  where 
I  had  been.  Well,  I've  been  up  and  down  ;  you 
would  think  I  had  been  more  down  than  up.  I  be 
lieve  }7ou  think  more  of  having  a  regular  place  to 
sleep  in  and  food  and  all,  than  you  do  of  having 
your  own  way." 

"  I  mean  to  have  my  own  way  too,  some  time," 
said  Hannah. 

"  Well,  that's  like  you,  that's  spirit,"  said  Janet, 
"  so  I  thought.  Now,  I've  been  living  in  Board 
Court  some  of  the  time.  It  is  not  much  of  a  place. 
But  you  see  more  of  the  world  there  than  you  do 
in  Langdale  in  any  time." 

"  I  don't  want  to  live  in  Board  Court,"  said  Han 
nah. 

"  You'd  live  there  if  Stephen  were  there," 
said  Janet. 

"  Have  you  heard  anything  of  Stephen  ?  Have 
you  seen  him  ?  Oh,  tell  me  quick,"  exclaimed 
Hannah. 


126  STRUGGLE  FOR   LIFE. 

"  I  haven't  seen  him,  only  the  boys  say  he  will 
certainly  come  back  to  Board  Court  some  time. 
They  expect  him  to  turn  up  there  any  day." 

"  I  don't  believe  you  know  anything  about  him," 
said  Hannah,  getting  up  to  hurry  away. 

"  Don't  go  away,  that  is  not  what  I  want  to  talk 
about.  But  I've  been  very  busy  lately  helping 
some  ladies  at  the  theatre.  And  such  times  as  I 
have  had  !  I  can  go  and  see  the  play  almost  every 
night.  They  want  somebody  to  sew  for  them. 
And  that  is  what  I  want  you  for.  You  were 
always  so  good  at  sewing,  and  I  can  get  you  just 
as  much  work  as  you  want,  and  good  pay  for  it  too. 
Besides  that,  we  can  go  to  the  theatre  when  we 
please." 

"  To  the  theatre  !  "  exclaimed  Hannah. 

"  Yes,  we'll  have  a  little  establishment  of  our 
own  in  Board  Court.  And  sometimes  we  can  have 
a  look  upon  the  stage,  that  is,  behind  the  scenes. 
But  the  best  is,  up  stairs  at  the  theatre.  There 
you  can  look  down  upon  all  the  show,  upon  all  the 
fine  people,  and  there's  that  nice  warm  gas  smell, 
and  it's  so  comfortable  and  all." 
.  "  I  went  once  to  the  theatre  long  ago  with  Stee- 
vie,"  said  Hannah.  "  I  have  forgotten  a  great  deal. 
But  there  came  in  a  great  ship.  It  was  on  the 
stage,  but  it  came  floating  in  just  as  if  it  were  on 
the  water,  only  it  was  more  golden  and  splendid 
than  any  ship  is.  There  was  a  sister  and  a  brother 
floating  together  in  it.  Oh,  how  they  must  live,  the 


AN    OLD    FRIEND.  127 

people  that  act  there  !  It  all  looks  so  fine,  even  if 
they  do  have  to  work  hard  !  I  wouldn't  mind  the 
work,  Janet." 

"  Oh,  you  wouldn't  have  to  work  hard,"  said 
Janet,  "just  sewing,  that  you  can  do  so  easy,  and 
then  so  much  fun  all  the  time  !  " 

"  I  didn't  mean  the  sewing,"  said  Hannah.  "  I 
mean  the  actors  can't  have  to  work  hard,  not  harder 
than  we  do  now." 

"  Oh,  you  are  thinking  of  acting,"  answered 
Janet ;  "  perhaps  it  might  come  to  that  in  time, — 
who  knows  ?  Any  how,  it's  a  more  jolly  life  than 
you  are  leading  now." 

"  But  I  can't  leave  Miss  Amy,"  said  Hannah  ab 
ruptly,  after  a  moment's  thought. 

"  What  have  you  to  do  with  Miss  Amy  ?  "  asked 
Janet. 

"  I  have  left  Miss  Elspeth's.  I'm  living  at  the 
Rothsays'  now  "  answered  Hannah. 

"  Is  that  it?  "  exclaimed  Janet ;  "then  it's  easier 
for  you  to  go  away  than  ever  !  Then  you've  left 
Bessie  in  good  quarters.  Don't  stop  to  think ! 
The  down  train  will  be  along  in  fifteen  minutes. 
That  will  give  you  just  time  to  go  round  through 
the  road  and  make  up  a  bundle  of  your  things  and 
come  directly  on  with  me." 

"  Oh,  I  can't  go,  I  can't  go  with  you  ! "  said  Han 
nah,  yet  with  regret  in  her  tone.  "  Never  mind  the 
bundle,"  said  Janet,  "just  sit  and  talk  with  me  the 
fifteen  minutes.  I'll  tell  you  more  what  we  will  do. 


128  STRUGGLE  FOR  LIFE. 

You  don't  want  to  be  tied  down  all  your  life  to  two 
old  women.  Just  come  into  town  witli  me  to-night." 

"  No,  I  can't  to-night,"  said  Hannah.  "  I  can't 
go  now.  Perhaps  this  fall,  when  I  am  at  Carlton's, 
if  I  find  I  can't  bear  it  there,  I'll  come  in  to  you 
then." 

"  But  it  will  be  too  late  then,"  urged  Janet, 
"  your  place  will  be  filled  up.  They  will  have  got 
somebody  else  in  town,  and  what  is  it  to  do? 
Miss  Elspeth  would  not  object  to  your  going  out 
sewing  ?  " 

"  I  am  really  a  help  to  Miss  Amy  now,  and  I  can't 
leave  her,"  said  Hannah.  "  In  the  fall,  I  am  to  go 
to  the  Carltons  to  live.  It  will  be  different  there,  I 
know.  That  will  be  in  a  month  or  two." 

"  At  the  Carltons'  1  Are  you  going  to  live  there  ? 
Why,  Mrs.  Carlton  will  keep  you  sewing  from 
morning  till  night,  and  expect  you  to  take  care  of 
the  children  too.  I  would  advise  you  never  to  get 
into  that  house  unless  you  want  to  be  a  slave  all 
your  life.  In  a  month  or  two  it  will  be  too  late." 

"  I  love  Miss  Amy,"  said  Hannah,  "  I  don't  love 
many  people." 

"  Well,  just  come  in  with  me  to-ni'ghtand  see  how 
it  is,"  said  Janet,  "  you  can  come  out  again  in  a  day 
or  two,  and  tell  Miss  Amy  all  about  your  new  plans. 
It  would  be  different  if  you  were  going  to  live 
with  her  always ;  but  as  you  are  to  leave  her  so 
Boon,  it  can't  trouble  her  to  have  you  go  now." 


AN   OLD    FBIEND.  129 

"  I  can't  go  in  to-night !  I  can't  go  to-night !  "  re 
peated  Hannah. 

"  Then  I've  had  all  my  pains  for  nothing "  ex 
claimed  Janet;  "  I  expected  you  to  be  grateful  at 
least." 

"  Yet  you've  never  helped  me  much,"  said 
Hannah,  "  it  wasn't  the  truth  you  told  me  of  Stee- 
vie  and  the  circus." 

"  I  told  you  all  I  knew,  and  you  wouldn't  believe 
me,"  said  Janet ;  "  I  might  have  told  you  more. 
But  you  don't  deserve  I  should  let  you  know  any 
thing.  But  only  come  with  me  to-night." 

"  I  can't  go  to-night,"  said  Hannah  resolutely, 
"  next  winter  I  will  think  about  it."  At  this  mo 
ment  Martha  was  heard  crying  for  Hannah,  and  pres 
ently  Bessie's  voice  calling  for  help.  Hannah  hur 
ried  away  up  the  wood-path.  "  I'll  wait  for  you," 
said  Janet.  She  sat  down  on  the  stone  and  listened 
to  the  different  voices,  but  Hannah  did  not  come 
back  again.  Janet  lingered  about  the  woods,  till 
the  train  for  town  came  along,  and  went  away  in  it. 


CHAPTER    XYI. 

ME.    JASPER. 

HANNAH  met  Martha  running  towards  her.  "  Oh ! 
Margie  is  up  in  the  tree,  and  we  can't  get  her 
down.  She'll  fall  and  break  her  neck  !  What  can 
we  do?" 

Hannah  hurried  on,  and  found  Bessie  under  an 
oak-tree,  looking  up  to  Margie,  who  was  clinging 
to  one  of  the  outer  branches.  Bessie  was  half 
laughing  and  half  frightened.  "  She's  so  foolish," 
she  said  to  Hannah,  explainingly ;  "  it's  easy  enough 
to  come  down,  but  she  is  so  frightened  she  won't 
try." 

"  How  did  she  get  up  there  ?  "  asked  Hannah,  as 
she  came  under  the  tree,  arid  tried  to  reach  Margie. 

"  Oh,  Bessie  persuaded  me  to  come  up  here,  and 
helped  me  along,  and  now  I  am  out  on  this  branch, 
and  I  know  it  won't  bear  me,  and  I  can't  possibly 
get  down,  and  I  know  my  arms  will  break." 

Hannah  was  not  tall  enough  to  reach  where 
Margie  was,  and  Margie  would  not  let  Bessie 
climb  the  tree  to  her,  because  she  was  sure  she 
would  break  the  branch  if  she  came  up  into  the 


MR.    JASPER.  131 

tree.  So  the  poor  child  swayed  backward  and 
forward  on  the  light  bough,  clinging  to  it  with 
trembling  hands. 

"  Let  yourself  down,  we  will  catch  you,"  said 
Hannah  ;  "  you  are  not  very  far  from  the  ground." 

"  Oh,  no  !  I'm  afraid,"  cried  Margie. 

;'  Run  to  the  house  for  some  one,"  said  Hannah 
to  Bessie. 

"  My  arms  will  break  off,  I  know,"  said  Margie, 
"  before  you  come  back." 

"  There's  a  noise,  —  there's  somebody  coming," 
exclaimed  Martha ;  "  stop,  Bessie,  you  needn't  go. 
It's  a  man, —  a  gentleman." 

Martha  ran  to  him  for  help.  He  came  just  in 
time,  for  Margie,  in  trying  to  reach  a  higher  bough, 
had  strained  her  wrist.  He  lifted  her  down  with 
out  trouble. 

"  How  did  you  get  there  ?  "  he  asked ;  "  why 
didn't  you  climb  down  as  you  came  up?" 

"  I  know  it,"  said  Bessie  ;  "  it's  easy  enough.  I 
have  been  up  and  down  in  the  tree  half  a  dozen 
times  since  Margie  has  been  on  that  branch." 

"  Bessie  said  it  was  so  easy,"  said  Margie,  "  and 
that  it  was  just  like  a  swing  up  there ;  and  I  didn't 
mind  climbing  up  into  the  tree,  but  I  didn't  know 
how  I  ever  should  get  down." 

"  Margie  began  to  tell  us  a  story,"  said  Bessie  ; 
"  Martha  sat  under  the  tree,  and  I  believe  Margie 
was  frightened  by  her  own  story,  for  she  was  just 
telling  something,  oh,  really  dreadful  —  " 


132  STRUGGLE  FOR  LIFE. 

"And  I  heard  a  noise, —  it  was  only  a  little 
noise,"  said  Margie,  "  but  it  frightened  me  more 
than  a  great  one.  I  was  very  foolish ;  I  thought 
of  bears,  and  I  crept  out  to  the  end  of  the  branch, 
and  then  it  began  to  rock  up  and  down,  and  I 
thought  I  should  fall,  and  I  felt  as  if  my  arms 
would  break." 

"And  where  were  you?"  asked  their  new  friend, 
of  Hannah. 

"  I  was  away  on  the  edge  of  the  wood,"  Hannah 
answered,  "  but  I  ought  to  have  been  here.  I 
would  not  have  let  Margie  climb  the  tree  if  I  had 
been  here.  She  is  frightened  so  easily,  she  can't 
climb  like  Bessie." 

"  I'm  so  glad  you  came  through  the  wood,"  said 
Martha  to  the  stranger;  "very  few  people  know 
the  way  through  the  wood." 

"  I  know  the  way,"  he  said,  "  though  it  is  over 
five  years  since  I  have  been  here.  I  only  came  to 
Langdale  this  morning,  and  I  came  across  through 
the  woods  on  my  way  to  Mr.  Rothsay's." 

"  We're  going  through  the  Rothsays'  garden," 
said  Bessie,  "  so  we  can  go  together." 

"  I  had  better  take  this  little  Margie  in  my 
arms,"  said  he,  "  she  is  trembling  still." 

"  It's  my  hand  pains  me,"  said  Margie,  "  I  can't 
tie  my  bonnet." 

"  I  am  afraid  your  wrist  is  sprained,"  said  their 
friend. 

"  0  dear,  we  shall  have  to  send  for  the  Doctor," 


MB.   JASPER.  133 

said  Bessie  ;  "  I  wish  it  had  been  my  wrist.  But 
there's  one  comfort  for  you,  Margie,  you  wont  have 
to  beat  eggs  with  it." 

The  party  went  through  the  Rothsays'  garden, 
and  Amy  came  out  to  meet  them. 

"What  is  the  matter?  Why,  Mr.  Jasper,  is  this 
you  with  our  little  Margie?  How  came  you  here? 
Is  Margie  hurt  ?  " 

"  She's  more  frightened  than  hurt,"  answered 
Mr.  Jasper.  "  I  came  by  the  morning  train  from 
Boston,  and  I  met  this  little  party  on  my  way 
through  the  woods.  They  will  tell  you  what  was 
the  matter." 

"  It  would  have  been  so  bad  if  he  had  not  come 
through  the  woods.  I  don't  know  what  would  have 
happened  to  Margie,"  said  Martha. 

Bessie,  at  the  same  time,  began  to  tell  how  it 
was  her  fault  persuading  Margie  to  get  into  the 
tree.  They  made  a  long  story  of  it.  Hannah  was 
silent.  At  the  end,  Amy.  turned  round  to  her 
inquiringly. 

"  It  was  my  fault,"  said  Hannah ;  then  in  a  low 
tone,  "  I  shouldn't  have  stayed  as  I  did  by  the 
cars.  I  let  the  children  go  back  into  the  woods 
alone.  I  ought  to  have  gone  with  them." 

"  But  we  are  not  children  now,"  said  Bessie, 
impatiently. 

"Miss  Elspeth  sent  Hannah  to  take  care  of  you," 
said  Amy.  "  Hannah  and  I  will  go  in  with  you  to 
Bee  Miss  Elspeth  and  Miss  Dora,  if  Mr.  Jasper  will 
bring  Margie  to  the  gate." 


134  STRUGGLE   FOB  LIFE. 

"I  hope  all  Langdale  is  as  little  changed  as 
you,"  said  Mr.  Jasper,  looking  at  Amy.  "  When  I 
found  all  this  little  party  in  the  woods,  I  thought  I 
had  come  into  a  new  neighborhood,  but  I  begin  to 
feel  at  home  again  now." 

"These  are  our  new  neighbors,"  said  Amy;  "the 
Miss  Eltons  came  just  as  you  went  away." 

"  I  have  heard  a  little  about  them  from  the 
Fays  this  morning,"  said  Mr.  Jasper ;  "  I  went 
directly  there,  and  they  have  refreshed  me  a  little 
in  Langdale  news ;  it  was  a  long  time  since  I  had 
heard  from  here." 

"  And  you  are  really  going  to  stay  with  us  a 
little  while  ?  "  said  Amy. 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Peterson  wrote  me  so  earnestly  to 
take  his  place  here  this  winter,  while  he  went 
away;  and  he  sent,  too,  such  earnest  entreaties 
from  the  parish,  that  I  could  not  resist  coming." 

"  And  can  you  bear  a  winter  here  now  ?  "  asked 
Amy. 

"  Oh,  yes ;  don't  I  look  as  if  I  could  bear  any 
thing  ?  "  said  Mr.  Jasper. 

"  A  different  person  from  what  you  were  when 
you  went  away,"  said  Amy ;  "  you  don't  look  like 
an  invalid  now." 

They  readied  Miss  Elspeth's  house. 

"  This  is  Miss  ^Elton's  house,  then,"  continued 
Mr.  Jasper,  "  is  it  ?  —  the  little  brown  cottage. 
How  the  garden  is  grown  !  Miss  Margie,  I  wll 
set  you  down  here.  If  Miss  Elton  will  let  mu  J 
will  come  in  and  doctor  your  wrist." 


MR.    JASPER.  135 

Bessie  had  run  on  before  to  tell  Miss  Elspeth 
what  had  happened,  blaming  herself  for  Margie's 
trouble. 

"  I  will  wait  at  the  gate,"  said  Mr-.  Jasper  to 
Amy,  "  while  you  go  in  and  see  if  I  can  give  any 
surgical  aid,  then  I  will  walk  back  with  you  to 
your  house." 

But  no ;  Amy  came  out  and  said  Miss  Elspeth 
was  equal  to  the  care  of  Margie,  and  there  was 
not  much  hurt  done  apparently. 

"  How  pleasant  it  is  to  look  up  and  clown  the 
street  again,"  said  Mr.  Jasper ;  "  what  a  pretty 
place  it  is.  How  the  trees  and  vines  grow  and 
flourish  here !  Mrs.  Bunco's  little  old  house  be 
comes  picturesque  as  the  green  gathers  round  it." 

'•  And  Mrs.  Bunce  herself,"  said  Amy ;  "  see,  she 
is  looking  after  you  over  the  fence,  trying  to  make 
you  out." 

"  I  must  go  and  speak  to  her  presently,"  said 
Mr.  Jasper;  "that  will  announce  my  arrival  in 
Langdale.  Mrs.  Bunce  was  always  the  Court  Jour- 
nal  of  Langdale.  Children  on  your  piazza !  Ah, 
those  are  your  little  cousins  of  whom  I  have  heard. 
Well,  Amy,  you  have  plenty  to  do." 

As  they  walked  up  the  path  towards  the  house, 
Amy  heard  herself  called  back  into  the  street. 
"  Oh  Amy,  just  come  here  a  minute,  I  want  to  ask 
you  something." 

"  Agnes,  is  it  you  ?  Won't  you  come  in?  What 
do  you  want  ?  "  asked  Amy. 


136  STRUGGLE  FOB  LIFE. 

'•  Oh,  haven't  you  any  old  novels  you  can  lend  us 
to  read  1  I'm  tired  to  death  of  the  Club  books,  they 
are  all  so  stupid.  Has  not  Frank  something  inter 
esting  to  read  ?  " 

"  I  dare  say,  will  you  come  in  and  see  ?  "  answered 
Amy. 

11  Oh,  no  matter  now.  That  is  not  really  what  I 
wanted.  I  brought  you  out  here  to  ask  you  if  that 
isn't  Mr.  Jasper  you  were  walking  up  with  ?  I 
saw  you  in  the  distance,  and  I  thought  it  looked 
like  him.  But  it  is  so  long  since  I  have  seen  him. 
I  suppose  he  has  come  to  stay  ?  Well,  I'm  rejoiced. 
I'm  tired  to  death  of  Mr.  Peterson.  He  preaches 
over  the  same  things.  I  could  say  off  his  sermons 
before  I  went  to  church.  He's  got  me  into  such  a 
habit  of  going  to  sleep,  that  I'm  afraid  Mr.  Jasper 
won't  wake  me  up.  No,  I  won't  come  in;  it's  such 
a  comfort  to  have  a  piece  of  news  to  tell  people, 
that  I  won't  stay.  The  Lees  will  be  out  on  their 
doorsteps.  What  a  novelty  it  is  to  have  somebody 
coming  back  1  Everybody  has  been  going  away 
so  !  Tom  Paxton,  you  know,  is  really  coming  home. 
They  expect  him  every  day.  I  do  hope  he'll  stir 
them  up  a  little  at  the  Paxtons.  But  I  won't  keep 
you  any  longer.  It  must  be  a  treat  for  you  to  have 
somebody  to  talk  with." 

"  Who  is  your  pretty  friend  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Jasper 
of  Amy. 

"  That  is  Agnes  Carlton.  Did  not  you  remember 
her  ?  "  asked  Amy. 


MR.   JASPER.  137 

"  Is  that  Agnes  ?  Why  she  was  one  of  the  little 
girls  when  I  went  away.  One  of  your  witches, 
that  Mrs.  Carlton  was  always  scolding,  because  she 
wouldn't  sit  still,  and  never  came  into  the  house 
except  to  show  that  her  dress  was  torn  off  her  shoul 
ders,  or  her  braids  tumbling  down  her  back." 

"  Agnes  has  come  home  from  school  a  finished 
young  lady  now,"  said  Amy,  "  she's  the  model  of 
dress  for  all  Langdale." 

"  She  is  pretty,"  said  Mr.  Jasper ;  "  I  watched 
her  as  she  talked  with  you,  her  ribbons  flying,  her 
tongue  going,  and  her  eyes  dancing.  Then  she 
has  a  fresh  healthy  color  in  her  cheek." 

"  You  should  have  heard  what  she  said,"  said 
Amy,  "  for  she  only  stopped  to  ask  about  you." 

"  How  different  from  Bertha  !  "  said  Mr.  Jasper, 
thoughtfully  ;  "  a  younger  sister  of  Bertha  !  " 

"  She  is  a  picture  of  health  by  the  side  of  Ber 
tha  !  "  said  Amy ;  "  and  poor  Bertha,  so  languid 
now,  so  feeble.  And  she  is  different  every  way 
from  Bertha !  Bertha  has  all  the  soul  and  heart. 
Agnes  is  full  of  life  and  animation.  I  can't  make 
myself  interested  in  her,  though  I  try  to,  for  Ber 
tha's  sake,  and  though  she  excites  so  much  admira 
tion.  Oh,  she  is  a  great  contrast  to  Bertha !  She 
is  cold  and  shining,  and  Bertha  is  full  of  feeling." 

"  Bertha  went  to  heaven  a  long  time  ago,"  said 
Mr.  Jasper,  "  her  spirit  went.  She  has  not  lived 
on  the  earth,  as  one  of  us,  this  great  while." 

"  But  her  body  is  as  beautiful  as  a  spirit,  as  frail 


138  STRUGGLE   FOR  LIFE. 

and  transparent/'  said  Amy ;  "  that  has  been  moving 
round  with  us  still.  Though  lately,  Bertha  has 
been  more  shut  up  at  home.  I  dread  this  winter 
for  her." 

"  Why  don't  they  carry  her  away  to  the 
South?"  asked  Mr.  Jasper.  "  It  is  no  place  for  her 
to  spend  the  winter  here." 

"Mrs.  Carlton  is  wilfully  blind,"  said  Amy  ;  "  she 
does  not  see  how  sick  Bertha  is.  But  indeed,  Ber 
tha  would  not  like  to  go  away  from  home.  And  I 
am  afraid  she  could  not  be  comfortable  or  happy 
anywhere  else." 

"  Can  she  be  happy  or  comfortable  anywhere  in 
this  world?  "  asked  Mr.  Jasper;  "  her  nature  is  so 
delicate  it  can't  bear  up  against  what  this  world 
brings.  How  terrible  must  be  to  her  all  the  house 
hold  discomforts,  and  the  little  home  embitterments 
she  is  surrounded  by." 

"  Bertha  never  shrank  from  life,"  said  Amy ;  "  she 
had  too  much  faith  for  that." 

"  Yes,  it  takes  more  faith  to  live  by,  than  to  die 
by,"  said  Mr.  Jasper. 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

THE  SEWING    CIRCLE. 

Miss  ELSPETH'S  little  rooms  were  crowded  by  the 
Be  wing  circle,  and  Miss  Dora's  household  arrange 
ments  had  been  previously  so  perfected  that  she  was 
actually  able  to  sit  down  to  entertain  her  guests 
when  they  assembled.  Hannah  and  Bessie  had 
been  busy  in  the  kitchen  with  her  all  the  morning. 
Martha  had  picked  the  prettiest  flowers  from 
the  garden  and  the  woods,  and  had  arranged  them 
gracefully  around  the  rooms.  There  were  dishes 
of  bright  scarlet  flowers,  and  tall  vases  of  wild 
flowers,  and  Margie's  pet  basket,  out  of  which  hung 
graceful  vines.  Miss  Dora  made  some  objections 
to  covering  the  tables  with  flowers.  She  did  not 
see  where  the  work  was  to  be  put,  or  the  candles, 
when  it  came  time  to  light  up.  But  Miss  Elspeth 
showed  her  they  had  left  room  for  the  candles,  and 
Martha  had  arranged  the  work  on  a  table  in  the 
corner. 

So  there  was  great  talking,  and,  of  course,  a 
great  deal  of  work  done  too.  For  the  two  rooms 
were  full,  and  the  younger  girls  sat  on  the  stairs  in 


140  STRUGGLE   FOR   LIFE. 

the  entry.  Mrs.  Paxton  was  there.  She  could  not 
sew  because  she  couldn't  use  her  eyes,  and 
she  never  talked  much,  but  then  it  was  respectable 
to  have  her  sitting  there  in  her  well-fitting  gloves. 
Mrs.  Bunce  was  in  fine  spirits.  Her  fingers  went 
fast,  her  eyes  took  in  all  that  was  going  on,  nor  did 
her  conversation  flag.  "  So,  Miss  Dora,  Martha  is 
to  be  a  teacher,"  she  broke  in. 

"  So  it  seems,"  said  Miss  Dora ;  "  she  has  been 
studying  hard  enough.  She  has  her  French  les 
sons  with  Amy,  and  has  been  to  school  summer  and 
winter.  When  she's  old  enough  she  will  go  to  the 
Normal  School,  I  suppose.  I  don't  see  the  use  of 
so  much  learning  and  studying,  myself." 

"  Well,  if  she  can  teach,  she  can  earn  her  living 
that  way,"  suggested  Mrs.  Bunce ;  "  that's  a  good 
thing." 

"  But  what  is  it  all  to  come  to  ?  "  said  Miss  Dora. 
"  Here's  Martha  learning  just  to  teach  a  new  set 
of  children.  Now,  what  good  is  it  going  to  do  all 
these  others  ?  Are  they  going  to  learn  merely  so 
they  can  teach?  What  are  they  going  to  do  with 
it  all,  I  should  like  to  know  ?  It  would  save  time 
if  none  of  them  learnt." 

"  Ah,  but  Miss  Dora,  what  will  you  do  with  the 
time  when  you  have  saved  it  ?  "  asked  Amy. 

"  That's  verytrue,"  said  Mrs.  Paxton  ;  "  occupa 
tion  is  the  great  thing  for  young  people." 

"  There's  plenty  to  do  without  reading  books  all 
the  time,"  said  Miss  Dora,  "  and  there  would  be 


THE  SEWING   CIRCLE.  141 

another  saving  of  time.  If  nobody  read  their 
books  it  would  save  the  time  of  the  people  that 
have  to  write  them.  It  must  take  considerable  to 
be  scribbling  it  all ;  I've  never  wasted  my  time 
over  it." 

"  Oh,  Miss  Dora,  but  don't  you  read  the  Harper, 
and  Thackeray  ?  "  asked  Annie  Fay. 

"  And  if  you  would  only  write  a  book,  Miss 
Dora,"  said  Amy  j  "  only  think  how  much  good 
you'd  do." 

"  The  only  book  I  should  write,"  said  Miss  Dora, 
"  would  be  a  cook-book ;  and  I  should  say  in  the 
beginning  that  it  wouldn't  do  any  good,  and  if  they 
wanted  to  cook  they  must  cook, and  not  read  books." 

"  But,  Miss  Dora,  then  your  book  wouldn't  help 
us,"  said  Annie  Fay. 

"  There's  Margie,"  continued  Miss  Dora,  "  when 
she  begins  upon  a  story  there's  no  chance  to  get  her 
away  from  it.  She  has  the  book  stuck  up  on  the 
mantelpiece  when  she's  dusting,  and  open  on  the 
table  when  she's  sewing.  There  would  be  no  meals 
in  the  family  if  we  waited  for  her.  You  can't  eat 
and  drink  the  best  books  in  the  world." 

"  I  must  say,"  said  Mrs.  Bunce,  "  I  don't  often 
see  Margie  but  what  she  has  a  book  in  her  hand." 

"  But  you  haven't  told  us  what  we  are  to  do  if 
we  don't  read,"  said  one  of  the  Lees. 

"  I  suppose  you'd  like  to  have  us  sew,"  said  An 
nie  Fay. 

"  The  girls  now-a-days,"  said  Mrs.  Carlton,  "  don't 


142  STRUGGLE   FOR   LIFE. 

know  anything  about  sewing.  I  can't  think  what 
we  shall  come  to.  I  cannot  get  along  with  my 
work  unless  I  keep  at  my  sewing  steadily  from 
morning  till  night.  I  always  meant  to  teach  my 
girls  how  to  sew  if  they  did  not  know  anything  else. 
But,  dear  me,  I  believe  Agnes  knows  everything 
else,  and  I  can't  induce  her  to  sew  long  enough  to 
pay  for  hunting  up  her  thimble." 

"  I  never  thought  much  of  sewing  steadily  all 
day,"  said  Miss  Dora ;  "  and  Elspeth  says  there's 
poor  folks  enough  who  need  the  sewing  work, 
to  say  nothing  of  machines,  though  I  wouldn't 
have  one  in  the  house.  But  there's  one  thing 
that  does  come  regularly,  and  that  is  three  meals 
a  day  ;  and  I  think  a  girl  ought  to  know  how  to  get 
the  meals,  if  she  don't  cook  them  herself." 

"  You  are  right  there,"  said  Mrs.  Paxton,  who 
had  never  troubled  herself  with  more  than  order 
ing  her  meals. 

And  Miss  Dora  bustled  away  to  arrange  her  gen 
erous  tea-table. 

Mr.  Jasper  came  in  the  evening,  and  the  greet 
ings  were  especially  cordial ;  every  one  was  glad 
to  see  him  back  again,  and  everybody  was  fresh 
with  delight  at  his  last  Sunday's  sermons. 

Mr.  Jasper  was  talking  with  Amy  in  the  entry. 
"  That  little  Margie's  hair  will  take  fire,"  he 
exclaimed  ;  "  what  is  she  doing  with  the  candle  in 
her  hand  ?  " 

Amy  went  to  the  stairs,  where  Margie  was  show- 


THE   SEWING   CIECLE.  143 

ing  a  friend  some  pictures,  and  advised  her  putting 
down  her  candlestick. 

"  The  little  Margie  interests  me,"  said  Mr.  Jas 
per  ;  "  she  is  full  of  imagination.  Only  don't  let 
her  grow  up  into  one  of  those  girls  that  let  their 
minds  go  to  walk  through  some  side  door  when 
they  think  they  are  with  you  all  the  time." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  asked  Amy. 

"  Don't  you  know  how  tiresome  it  is  when  you've 
been  talking  earnestly  to  any  one,  suddenly  to  find 
your  listener,  instead  of  being  a  listener,  has  been 
taking  a  little  excursion  of  his  own,  wandering  off 
into  some  delightful  region,  very  likely,  but  he 
alone  has  the  gate  to  it  and  the  key?  " 

"  Absent-minded  people  are  very  trying,"  said 
Amy.  "  I  have  a  wicked  desire,  all  the  time,  to 
stick  pins  into  their  minds  and  rouse  them  out  of 
their  dreams." 

"  Present-minded  people  are  as  unsatisfactory," 
said  Mr.  Jasper ;  "  they  are  so  taken  up  with  what  is 
going  on,  they  think  only  of  what  they  are  saying 
now,  and  forget  if  they  have  any  pastor  future.  Most 
party  talk  goes  no  further  than  the  candles,  and 
dresses,  and  show  of  the  evening.  Look  at  our 
lively  friend,  Agnes  Carlton.  She  leans  against 
the  door-post,  complacently  happy.  Tom  Paxton 
is  on  one  side  and  Prank  at  the  other.  She  is  not 
even  thinking  of  what  she  is  saying  now.  She  is 
thinking  of  the  opinion  that  she  sees  you  and  I  are 
passing  upon  her." 


144  STRUGGLE   FOR   LIFE. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  are  right,"  said  Amy. 

"  Yet  she  can  talk  well,"  said  Mr.  Jasper. 

"  But  she  talks  without  heart.  What  she  says 
is  from  her  lips ;  it  comes  from  no  deeper.  And 
is  there  anything  deeper  there  ?  "  said  Amy. 

"  Are  you  not  severe  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Jasper. 

"  And  you  ?  "  said  Amy. 

"  Do  you  think  me  severe  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Jasper. 

"  You  have  appeared  to  me  more  so  than  before 
you  went  away,"  said  Amy. 

"  Have  I  ?  And  is  not  that  right?  "  asked  Mr. 
Jasper.  "I  have  lived -five  years  and  more  since 
then.  Should  not  that  embitter'  me  ?  " 

"  It  is  not  like  you  to  say  so,"  said  Amy. 

"  What  should  I  say  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Jasper. 

"  Your  old  self  used  to  say  that  true  living  could 
only  refresh  us.  It  must  be  those  who  let  their 
better  life  die  out  who  talk  of  the  harshness  of 
life,"  said  Amy. 

"  It  is  my  death  then  that  I  complain  of  when 
I  complain  of  the  bitterness  of  my  life,"  said 
Mr.  Jasper.  "  And  all  my  disappointments,  yes, 
they  are  the  death  of  my  better,  my  happier  hopes. 
I  may  complain  still  then,  only  give  my  complaint 
a  different  name." 

"  Is  that  what  discipline  is  to  teach  us  ?  "  asked 
Amy.  "  You  used  to  teach  us  differently." 

"  I  can  teach  others  better  than  I  can  myself, 
Amy,"  said  Mr.  Jasper ;  "  and  perhaps  my  own 
salvation  lies  that  way.  -If  I  cannot  heal  myself,  I 
may  heal  others." 


THE  SEWING  CIRCLE.  145 

"  There's  room  for  it  here,"  said  Amy.  "  We  all 
need  freshening  and  renewing." 

"  And  there  is  room  for  it,  you  think,  oppositej 
with  Agnes  Carlton  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Jasper.  "  You 
think  she  needs  improving?" 

"  Yes ;  but  how  I  scarcely  know,"  said  Amy. 
"  I  can  hardly  tell  how  to  reach  her.  I  am  afraid 
she  is  weak ;  she  seems  very  thoughtless.  I  would 
like  to  love  her  more  because  she  is  Bertha's  sister, 
but  I  grow  discouraged.  And  then  I  try  to  com 
fort  myself  with  thinking  perhaps  she  is  not  in  my 
parish." 

"  Your  parish  is  a  large  one,  as  it  is,"  said  Mr. 
Jasper,  laughing.  "  All  these  four  girls  belong  to 
it,  I  suppose." 

"  Oh,  they  take  care  of  themselves  very  much," 
said  Amy ;  "  but  I  am  deeply  interested  in  them. 
Hannah  troubles  me  most.  The  others  were 
younger  when  they  came  here,  and  have  made 
themselves  at  home  here.  Hannah  cannot  help 
feeling  she  is  oppressed  still.  I  am  troubled  about 
her." 

"  The  others  seem  very  happy,"  said  Mr.  Jasper. 

"Yes;  Margie,  you  see,  has  her  little  friend 
there,  and  Bessie  has  taken  hers  away  to  help  her 
in  the  kitchen,  and  the  sober,  thoughtful  Martha 
has  her  friends  everywhere." 

"  But  Hannah  does  not  find  her  place  ?  "  asked 
Mr.  Jasper. 

10 


146  STRUGGLE   FOR  LIFE. 

"  She  is  uneasy;  still,  she  is  not  happy."  said 
Amy. 

"  But  to  return  to  our  old  subject.  Do  you  think 
Agnes  Carlton  is  in  my  parish?"  asked  Mr. 
Jasper. 

"  Most  certainly  she  is  under  your  influence," 
said  Amy  ;  "  but  then  I  have  not  recommended 
her  to  you.  Indeed,  I  have  talked  more  about  her 
than  I  like." 

"  But  Bertha's  sister  ought  not  to  be  weak-minded 
and  trivial.  For  Bertha's  sake  we  might  do  some 
thing  for  her,"  said  Mr.  Jasper ;  "  only,  is  not  Ber 
tha's  own  influence  the  best  for  her  ?  " 

"  What  has  pained  me  in  Agnes,"  said  Amy,  "  is 
her  apparent  want  of  feeling  towards  Bertha.  She 
might  do  much  for  her  now.  A  joyous,  light- 
hearted  spirit,  such  as  Agnes  has,  might  add  so 
much  to  Bertha's  happiness  !  Oh,  it  is  wrong  of 
me  to  speak  of  Agnes  so  ;  but  every  day,  when  I 
am  with  Bertha,  I  see  how  she  is  pained  by  the  sel 
fishness  that  Agnes  shows." 

"  You  are  with  Bertha  every  day  ?  "  asked  Mr. 
Jasper.  "  How  happy  for  you,  for  her,  you  can  do 
so  much  for  her." 

"  It  is  she  that  does  much  for  me,"  said  Amy. 
"  She  purifies  my  day  for  me,  and  makes  the  ail 
clearer." 

"  Now,  Mr.  Jasper,"  Mrs.  Bunce  broke  in,  "  if 
this  is  a  sermon  you  are  preaching,  I  think  your 
audience  is  too  small.  It  is  not  fair ;  you  have 
been  talking  to  Amy  the  last  half  hour." 


THE   SEWING   CIRCLE.  147 

"  It  is  Amy  who  has  been  preaching  to  me,"  said 
Mr.  Jasper.  "  That  is  a  chance  I  don't  have  often, 
you  know." 

"  Well,  I  couldn't  think  of  any  one's  venturing 
to  preach  to  you,"  said  Mrs.  Bunce.  "  Amy  knows 
h6w  to  practise.  She's  one  of  Mr.  Peterson's  most 
devoted  parishioners." 

"  Where  did  you  find  those  cardinal  flowers  ?" 
asked  Agnes  of  Martha.  "  I  wet  my  feet  and  spent 
the  whole  afternoon  yesterday  trying  to  find  some. 
Somebody  said  there  were  plenty  by  the  brook." 

"  Frank  Rothsay  brought  us  these,"  said  Martha. 
"  He  found  them  ever  so  far  off,  by  the  glen,  I 
believe." 

"  Oh,  wouldn't  it  be  fine  to  get  up  a  party  for 
the  glen?"  said  Agnes.  "  Amy,  do  let  us  go  and 
find  cardinal  flowers.  Tom  Paxton  is  wild  to  go 
somewhere,  and  he  is  making  forty  thousand  plans. 
He  says  it  tired  him  so  to  see  the  house  at  home 
look  just  as  it  did  when  he  went  away,  and  all  the 
people  too  are  just  the  same.  I  should  think  it 
would  be  tedious  enough,  when  he  has  been 
all  over  the  world  !  He  has  taken  up  the  currant- 
bushes  already,  and  would  like  to  remove  the  elm- 
trees  if  they  would  move  !  " 

"  Poor  Mrs.  Paxton  must  be  disturbed,"  said 
Amy. 

"  Oh,"  said  Agnes,  "  I  think  she  likes  it.  It  must 
be  better  than  vegetating  as  she  did  when  Nora 
was  at  home.  They  might  all  of  them  have  been 


148  STRUGGLE   FOR  LIFE. 

rooted  in  the  garden,  for  all  the  motion  they  ever 
indulged  in  !  I  wonder  Nora  could  travel !  It 
must  be  such  a  bore  to  her  to  remember  where 
she  is  every  day,  and  where  she  is  going  the 
next  1 " 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

BEGINNING   OF  SERVICE. 

HANNAH  had  one  more  interview  with  Janet. 
One  evening  at  dusk,  as  she  went  out  to  go  down 
in  the  village,  she  met  Janet  in  the  street. 

"  I  have  been  waiting  for  you  the  last  half  hour 
and  more,"  said  Janet,  "  and  I  was  just  beginning 
to  give  you  up.  They  must  keep  you  pretty  hard 
at  work  in  there.  At  Miss  Elspeth's  you  used  to 
have  a  little  quiet  time  in  the  evening  at  the  gar 
den  gate." 

"  I  don't  like  to  be  idle,"  'said  Hannah,  "you 
know  I  never  did." 

"  Where  are  you  going  now  ?  "  asked  Janet. 

"  Only  to  the  grocery  store  in  the  village,"  said 
Hannah. 

"That  grocery  store,"  exclaimed  Janet;  "I  won 
der  if  those  same  two  lemons  are  in  the  window 
that  used  to  be  there  in  my  day !  Langdale  is  a 
slow  place.  I  have  a  new  plan;  I  am  going  to 
New  York  now." 

"  Going  to  New  York !  Then  you  have  given 
up  living  in  Board  Court,  and  the  theatre,  and 
all?" 


150  STRUGGLE  FOE  LIFE. 

"I  couldn't  make  it  go  without  you,"  said  Janet; 
"they  engaged  me  to  do  the  sewing,  and  I  couldn't 
do  a  stitch  of  it.  You  were  to  have  done  the  sew 
ing,  and  I  was  to  get  the  place  for  you." 

"  Then  I  was  to  have  done  all  the  work,"  said 
Hannah,  "and  you  were  to  have  the  fun  you  talked 
about.  I  wondered  why  you  wanted  me  so  much." 

"  You  needn't  be  bitter  about  it,"  said  Janet ; 
"  if  you  are  so  fond  of  work  you  needn't  have 
minded  it.  And  you  must  agree  I  was  calculated 
to  make  the  best  impression  about  getting  the 
place.  I  never  could  sit  down  and  sew ;  I  should 
soon  be  tired  of  that." 

"  But  where  are  you  going  to  in  New  York  ?  " 
asked  Hannah. 

"  Oh,  I'm  going  to  try  my  fortune  there,"  said 
Janet ;  "  I  never  like  to  live  long  in  one  place.  It 
grows  tiresome  after  a  while.  I  expect  to  find 
friends  there, — bu£  I  want  you  to  go  on  with  me." 

"  To  do  your  sewing?"  asked  Hannah. 

"  You  needn't  take  that  so  hard,"  said  Janet  ; 
"you  might  just  as  well  work  for  me  as  for  Mrs. 
Carlton,  or  anybody  else,  and  better  too,  if  I  can 
get  you  better  wages  for  it." 

"  I  don't  see  what  you  have  to  offer  me  in  New 
York,"  said  Hannah. 

"  Well,  very  much  the  same  place  I  had  for  you 
in  Boston,"  said  Janet ;  "  then  New  York  is  so 
large  that  there  is  plenty  to  do.  And  even  if  you 
went  out  to  work  there,  you  would  have  a  better 


BEGINNING   OF  SERVICE.  151 

time.  You  needn't  have  to  work  half  so  hard, 
.and  it's  a  great  place  to  live  in." 

Hannah  went  into  the  little  store  to  make  her 
purchases,  and  then  turned  back  with  Janet. 

"  I  am  going  to  the  Carltons'  this  next  week," 
she  said,  "  and  I  have  been  thinking  about  what 
you  have  told  me  when  I  saw  you  before.  If  I 
find  it  hard,  I  will  go  on  to  New  York  and  meet 
you  somehow." 

"  If  you  come  into  Boston,  to  Board  Court, 
they'll  tell  you  there  where  I  am,  any  time.  You 
know  your  mother's  dead,"  Janet  added  abruptly. 

"  How  ?  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  asked  Hannah, 
surprised. 

"  Well,  I  thought  you  would  have  heard  of  it," 
said  Janet ;  "  you'll  hear  of  it  in  time.  Mrs. 
Badger  has  been  fussing  round  in  Board  Court, 
and  she  will  be  out  to  tell  you  all  about  it.  You 
can't  feel  very  bad,  after  all,  you  went  away  from 
her." 

"  I  have  always  thought,  Janet,"  said  Hannah, 
"  that  sometime  or  other  —  " 

"  Sometime  or  other  is  what  you  are  always 
talking  about,"  said  Janet ;  "  that  is  where  you 
live,  in  '  sometime  or  other.'  You  always  thought, 
I  suppose,  that  sometime  or  other  you  would  drive 
in  from  Langdale  in  a  eoach  and  four  horses,  and 
take  your  mother  away,  and  live  like  great  folks  in 
a  hotel." 

"  I  believe  I  did  think  very  much  so,"  said 
Hannah. 


152  STRUGGLE   FOR  LIFE. 

"Well,  you  may  coine  in,  in  the  omnibus;  I  don't 
see  how  you'll  come  any  other  way  from  Lang- 
dale,"  said  Janet.  "  I  may  as  well  bid  you  good- 
by ;  if  I'm  going  to  see  you  '  sometime  or  other/ 
I  shall  see  you  no  time." 

"  Perhaps  you  will  see  me  this  winter,"  said 
Hannah ;  "  I  shall  have  earned  enough  to  go  to 
New  York.  I  had  meant  to  keep  my  earnings." 

"  Then  you  have  begun  to  save  up  something," 
said  Janet. 

"  Miss  Elspeth  keeps  my  savings,"  said  Hannah. 
"  I  wish  I  were  you,  Janet ;  I  should  like  very 
well  to  go  round  from  one  place  to  another.  But 
I  can't  go  now." 

"  Good-by,  then,"  said  Janet ;  "  I  shall  see  you 
1  sometime  or  other.' " 

Hannah  had  found  it  hard  to  part  with  Miss 
Elspeth  and  the  family,  when  it  came  time  for  her 
to  go  to  the  Carltons.  It  seemed  more  like  going 
away  than  when  she  went  to  the  Rothsays.  Amy 
was  the  same  friend  to  her  that  Miss  Elspeth  was. 
She  would  have  been  willing  to  work  for  her  for 
love.  She  was  now  beginning  to  enter  upon  ser 
vice,  to  work  for  wages. 

"  You  won't  be  able  to  come  and  help  us  at  our 
busy  times  now,"  said  Miss  Elspeth ;  "  so,  Hannah, 
we  shall  depend  upon  seeing  you  at  your  leisure 
hours.  You  will  have  Saturday  evenings  to  your 
self,  and  you  must  always  come  here  then.  It  will 
be  a  quiet  time  to  see  you  in." 


BEGINNING   OF  SERVICE.  153 

"  And  don't  forget  what  I  told  you  about  keep 
ing  tidy  yourself,"  said  Miss  Dora;  "whatever  you 
do,  don't  forget  to  make  things  look  neat.  With 
all  the  boys  at  the  Carltons,  the  house  always  looks 
topsy-turvy.  You  can  see  after  things  a  little. 
You  can  be  of  great  use  in  the  family." 

"  Don't  give  Hannah  more  to  do  than  Mrs.  Carl- 
ton  will  find  for  her,"  said  Miss  Elspeth ;  "  I  don't 
want  to  have  Hannah  work  herself  to  death." 

Afterwards,  she  said  to  Hannah,  "  You  must  not 
forget  to  come  to  me  if  any  trouble  comes.  Don't 
stay  at  home  and  think  over  your  troubles,  but  let 
me  know  what  they  are.  Very  often  I  may  help 
you." 

Bessie  said  to  Hannah,  "  One  of  these  days  I 
shall  be  going  out  to  work  too.  I  have  been 
thinking  about  it  a  great  deal  since  it  has  been 
planned  you  should  go." 

"  That  won't  come  for  a  great  while,"  said  Han 
nah. 

"  I  don't  know  that,"  said  Bessie  ;  "  I  want  to 
be  earning  some  wages  and  doing  something.  Not 
that  I  am  ready  to  leave  here  ;  oh,  that  would  be 
hard  enough !  How  kind  Miss  Dora  and  Miss 
Elspeth  were  to  take  us  away.  I  don't  remember 
much  about  the  old  home,  Hannah,  but  sometimes 
I  have  bad  dreams  about  it,  and  recall  old  faces 
that  make  me  shudder.  And  there  were  such 
harsh  words  spoken  there,  and  the  people  that 
came  home  at  night  talked  so  loud,  it  frightens  me 
to  think  of  them." 


154  STRUGGLE   FOB  LIFE. 

"Do  you  think  of  them  all  so?"  asked  Hannah. 

"  Of  all  but  Steevie,"  said  Bessie ;  "  I  think  I 
would  like  to  see  him  again  j  yet  I  have  had  bad 
dreams  even  of  him,  and  have  fancied  he  came 
sometimes  to  take  me  to  some  dark  place." 

"  Oh,  don't  think  of  such  things,"  said  Hannah, 
shuddering ;  "  I  had  rather  think  that  sometime 
we  shall  go  and  find  him." 

"  Perhaps  we  shall,"  said  Bessie,  "  though  I 
don't  like  ever  to  think  of  leaving  here.  It  has 
seemed  so  sunny  ever  since  we  came  here.  What 
bad  ways  I  had  when  I  first  came.  I  am  not  so 
very  good  now ;  I  do  a  great  many  things  that 
Martha  and  Margie  don't  even  think  of.  But  then 
I  did  not  know  what  it  was  to  do  right,  and  now  I 
do  wrong  when  I  know  it  is  not  good  to  do  it." 

"  You  are  not  a  bad  child,"  said  Hannah,  half 
laughing. 

"  I'm  not  as  bad  as  I  should  have  been  if  it  had 
not  been  for  Miss  Elspeth  and  Miss  Dora,"  said 
Bessie  ;  "  I  have  such  dreams  of  what  I  would  like 
to  do  when  I  grow  up." 

"  What  is  it  you  want  to  do? "  asked  Hannah. 

"  Oh,  it  is  quite  too  good  to  come  true."  said 
Bessie,  "but  I  like  to  think  about  it.  I  would 
like  nothing  better  than  to  live  always  here,  and 
take  care  of  Miss  Elspeth  and  Miss  Dora.  By-and- 
by  they  will  be  growing  old,  and  Miss  Dora  will 
have  to  give  up  working.  It's  very  selfish  in  me 
to  take  to  myself  the  caring  for  them  that  would 


BEGINNING   OF   SERVICE.  155 

be  so  pleasant,  and  seeing  to  their  bouse  and  all. 
But  you  others  can  all  do  better  things.  You  are 
a  great  deal  wiser  than  I  am,  Hannah,  and  are  fit 
for  a  great  deal  more.  Martha  will  be  going  away 
to  teach  one  of  these  days.  Perhaps  she  will  live 
with  us,  and  go  into  town  every  day  to  her  school. 
That  would  be  good.  And  Margie  could  never 
take  care  of  the  whole  house.  But  I  could,  for  I 
know  what  Miss  Dora  wants,  and  I  should  not 
mind  if  she  scolded  me  when  I  did  wrong." 

"  Miss  Elspeth  and  Miss  Dora  would  like  noth 
ing  better,  Bessie,"  said  Hannah ;  "  I  don't  know 
why  it  should  not  be  so." 

"  Oh,  it's  too  good,"  said  Bessie,  "  and  I  should 
like  first  to  be  earning  something,  just  to  show 
them  that  I  could.  But  then,  where  would  you 
be  ?  You  must  not  be  far  off." 

Miss  Elspeth  had  heard  of  the  death  of  Mrs. 
O'Connor,  from  Mrs.  Badger,  who  said  that  people 
were  glad  in  Board  Court  that  her  establishment 
there  was  broken  up.  Hannah  thought  more  than 
ever  of  her  talks  with  Janet,  and  was  even  moved 
to  join  her  and  go  on  to  New  York  with  her.  She 
had  been  much  touched  by  her  talk  with  Bessie. 
Bessie  had  spoken  of  a  feeling  toward  Miss  Els 
peth  and  Miss  Dora,  that  Hannah  was  conscious  of 
in  herself.  It  was  this  feeling  that  had  restrained 
her  when  her  old  love  of  wandering,  that  had  been 
so  long  kept  down,  tempted  her  to  go  away.  She 
did  now  feel  bound  to  Miss  Elspeth  and  Miss  Dora. 


156  STRUGGLE  FOR  LIFE. 

It  would  be  really  hard  to  do  anything  to  pain 
them.  For  more  than  five  years  she  had  been  pro 
vided  with  a  quiet,  peaceful  home.  She  had  not 
been  troubled  each  day  with  doubts  as  to  how  she 
was  to  live  to-morrow.  She  had  been  kindly  and 
gently  led  and  taught.  At  first,  she  had  not  been 
willing  to  trust  to  the  kindness  that  was  shown 
her.  She  had  rather  believe  that  it  was  not  shown 
her  from  goodness  of  heart  alone,  but  from  some 
unknown  selfish  motive.  She  could  not  believe  in 
such  unvarying  kindness,  nor  understand  it.  The 
suspicion  and  the  distrust  lingered  still,  yet  Han 
nah  was  gradually  and  unconsciously  softened  by 
the  influences  round  her.  Five  years  of  quiet, 
tame  life  had  quieted  her,  though  she  was  hardly 
aware  of  it  herself,  j  All  the  years  before,  she  had 
lived  in  a  roving,  aimless  way,  and  the  old  love  of 
change  came  up  often  to  assert  its  power.  Often 
came  back  the  old  longing  to  live  where  she  would 
not  be  bound  to  anybody,  —  where  she  might  be 
free,  even  if  she  were  only  free  to  starve.^  Bessie 
showed  greater  gratitude  to  their  kind  friends  than 
Hannah  was  willing  to  acknowledge  or  express. 
Hannah  began  to  feel  her  own  conscience  relieved. 
Yes,  Bessie  should  stay  and  take  care  of  Miss 
Elspeth  and  Miss  Dora,  and  Hannah  herself  would 
be  free  of  that  charge.  She  herself  would  go  out 
and  try  the  world  ;  she  would  leave  behind  Bessie 
and  all,  as  before  she  left  the  old  home,  —  it  could 
not  be  harder  now. 


BEGINNING   OF  SERVICE.  157 

But  it  was  harder.  For  before,  she  had  never 
been  bound  by  any  sense  of  duty,  and  now  she  was 
tied  by  it  imperceptibly.  When  Martha  and  Bes 
sie  bade  her  good-night  at  Mrs.  Carlton's  door, 
Hannah  waited  a  moment  till  the  sound  of  their 
footsteps  had  died  away.  She  did  not,  as  she  had 
planned,  turn  away  from  the  door,  to  go  to  the 
station  with  her  bundle,  and  take  the  evening  train 
for  Boston. 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

NEW    DUTIES. 

MRS.  CAELTON  had  given  Hannah  her  directions 
over  night.  She  was  to  be  the  first  one  up  the 
next  morning,  and  her  first  duty  was  to  unlock  the 
front  door  and  wash  the  steps. 

Hannah  was  standing  on  the  threshold  with  her 
pail,  having  performed  this  task.  It  was  a  frosty 
morning,  and  the  last  of  the  dead  leaves  were  falling 
to  the  ground.  It  was  still  and  quiet,  the  only 
sound  was  the  gentle  fall  of  the  leaves,  and  a  little 
rustling  in  the  dead  branches  of  the  vine  by  the 
door.  Hannah  looked  up  through  the  dark  pines 
that  stood  against  the  clear  blue  sky,  and  again  at 
the  little  path  she  had  cleared  so  carefully  from  the 
whirling  leaves.  Whatever  her  thoughts  were, 
they  were  suddenly  interrupted  by  a  shout  behind 
her.  It  came  from  some  voice  up  stairs. 

"  New  girl,  new  girl,  what  are  you  about?  here 
are  my  boots  to  clean  !  " 

"  Look  out  for  your  head,  new  girl,"  cried  another 
voice  ;  '•  you  must  clean  mine  too."  "  And  be  quick 
about  it,  for  we  want  to  put  them  on  right  off." 


NEW    DUTIES.  159 

"  Mine  too,"  cried  a  small  wee  voice.  And  down 
came  a  clatter  of  heavy  boots  from  over  the  stairs. 

"  Be  particular  to  give  them  an  extra  polish/' 
the  voices  began  again.  "  And  hurry  up,  don't 
move  like  a  snail." 

"  I  shall  be  down  after  mine  before  you  can  tarn 
round." 

A  door  was  heard  to  open,  and  another  voice  ex 
claimed, 

"  What's  all  this  noise  ?  Go  back  into  the  nursery, 
Harry ;  Fred,  are  you  not  ashamed  to  be  stirring  up 
the  house  so,  at  this  hour  ?  Don't  let  me  hear  one 
word  more  ! "  There  was  a  slam  of  the  doors,  then 
a  silence,  then  a  whispered  sound,  "  We  shall  be 
down  the  back  way,  so  fly  round,  new  girl !  Extra 
fine  blacking ! " 

Hannah's  head  had  fortunately  escaped  any  blow, 
and  she  picked  up  the  pile  of  boots  of  different 
sizes,  that  lay  scattered  round.  She  carried  them 
to  the  kitchen,  where  Bridget  could  give  her  some 
directions  as  to  what  she  should  do  with  them. 
Here  was  a  pair  of  heavy  boots  with  thick  soles 
and  quite  covered  with  mud  ;  next,  came  a  pair  a 
size  smaller,  but  a  close  imitation  of  the  first ;  the 
third  were  smaller  still,  and  the  mud  less  alarming. 
The  two  others  were  not  so  shapeless,  and  less 
heavy.  The  smallest  of  more  delicate  form,  still 
bore  the  shape  of  a  childish  foot,  while  the  rest 
tried  to  look  very  mannish. 

Hannah  had   hardly  half  finished  blacking  the 


160  STRUGGLE   FOB  LIFE. 

boots  when  there  came  down  the  back  stairs  a  sup 
pressed  clatter.  Fred  was  carrying  the  little  Harry 
in  his  arms.  "Where  are  my  boots?  oh,  ready? 
well,  that  was  smart !  I'll  soon  have  them  on.  I 
must  go  out,  Jack,  and  see  what  Mike  is  doing  with 
the  cow  ;  there's  no  hurry  about  you." 

"  Jack  has  got  my  boots,"  cried  Tom  ;  "  it's  just 
like  him  ;  he  always  thinks  he's  as  big  as  I  am." 

"  I  hope  we're  going  to  have  something  good  for 
breakfast,  Bridget,"  said  Fred. 

"  We  didn't  have  anything  fit  to  eat  for  supper, 
last  night,"  said  Tom.  "  I'm  as  hungry  as  a  bear  !  " 

"  Where's  Arthur?  "  said  Jack.  "  I  am  going  to 
pull  him  out  of  bed,  he's  so  lazy." 

"  You'll  take  me  out  to  see  the  cow  ?  "  said  Harry ; 
"don't  go  without  me." 

"  Why,  you  haven't  got  any  boots,"  said  Fred. 

"  Take  me  on  your  shoulder,  Fred,  never  mind 
about  my  boots,"  said  Harry. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Fred,  don't  let  him  go  without  his 
boots,"   said   Bridget  anxiously ;   "  what  will    his 
mother  say  ?  " 
''It  won't  hurt  him.  It  will  save  hisboots,"  said  Fred. 

Hannah  finished  the  blacking,  Tom  giving  his 
assistance  too.  She  felt  relieved  when  they  were 
all  out  of  the  house,  and  she  was  left  to  lay  the 
breakfast-table  in  peace.  She  had  a  dread  of  this 
mob  of  boys,  and  she  trembled  at  their  voices. 
She  did  not  meet  with  them  again  till  she  was  sent 
into  the  dining-room  at  breakfast-time  with  some 


NEW    DUTIES.  161 

* 

hot  cakes.  Fred  had  brought  his  dog  in  from  the 
barn,  and  Fido  was  lying  stretched  by  his  side. 
Hannah  did  not  see  the  dog,  and  as  she  came  up  to 
the  table,  she  stumbled  over  him,  letting  her  plate 
fall.  The  dog  shook  himself  and  gave  a  growl. 
"  That's  clumsy  !  "  said  one  voice. 

"You'll  please  to  let  my  dog  alone,"  said  Fred. 

"  I'll  thank  you  for  the  cakes,"  said  another. 

"  Poor  fellow,  poor  Fido ;  here's  a  bone,  poor  fel 
low." 

"  I  wish  you'd  look  where  you  are  stepping," 
said  Mrs.  Carlton  ;  "  take  the  plate  back,  and  bring 
some  fresh  cakes." 

"  She's  a  clumsy  one,"  said  Tom  as  Hannah  left 
the  room. 

"  Well,  that  dog  is  always  in  the  way,"  said  Ag 
nes  ;  "  that's  a  fact.  It  is  no  place  for  him,  in  the 
house ;  the  next  thing,  we  shall  have  him  on  the 
table." 

Fred  took  Fido  up  in  his  arms,  and  set  him  up 
triumphantly  by  Agnes's  elbow. 

"  Put  your  dog  down,"  said  Mr.  Carlton  ;  "  Agnes 
is  right ;  we  have  noise  enough  in  the  house,  with 
out  the  dogs  beside. 

"  Fido  is  harmless  enough."  said  Fred  ;  "  only  if 
stupid  Irish  girls  will  tread  on  him  — 

"  Hush,  she's  coming  in  again,"  said  Arthur. 

"  Don't  tread  on  the  dog,"  said  Jack.  Fido  by 
this  time  was  at  the  other  end  of  the  room,  looking 
out  of  the  window.  Jack's  remarks  were  always 
11 


162  STRUGGLE   FOR   LTFE. 

considered  witty  by  the  others,  and  whenever  he 
spoke,  the  rest  were  ready  to  laugh.  So  an  insult 
ing  suppressed  titter  greeted  Hannah  as  she  came 
in  and  went  out. 

"  Agnes  has  an  extra  flourish  to  her  hair,"  said 
Jack. 

"  She's  dressed  up,"  said  Tom  ;  "  I  wonder  what 
she's  going  to  do  so  early." 

"  I'm  going  into  town,"  said  Agnes;  "  you  needn't 
wonder  long." 

"  Will  your  highness  have  the  pleasure  of  es 
corting  me  in  ?  "  said  Fred. 

"  I  shall  go  in  the  early  train,"  said  Agnes. 

"  Agnes,  you  are  not  going  off  early  this  morn 
ing,"  said  Mrs.  Carlton  ;  "  }rou  know  Miss  Simpkins 
is  coming  to-morrow  about  the  boys'  clothes.  I 
want  to  be  ready  for  her  to-day." 

"  If  Miss  Simpkins  is  coming  about  the  boys' 
clothes,"  said  Agnes,  "  I  don't  see  why  you  need 
mo ;  I  thought  she  was  to  do  the  work." 

"Pray,  don't  wear  Agnes  out  with  working,  ma'a," 
said  Fred  ;  "  Agnes  has  so  much  to  do,  she'll  be  used 
up." 

"  She  was  so  dreadful  busy  yesterday  afternoon," 
said  Tom,  "  she  could  not  make  the  bobs  to  my 
kite.  She  wouldn't  make  half  a  bob." 

"  You  ought  to  have  called  them  Roberts,"  said 
Jack,  "  that  would  have  been  more  elegant.  Agnes 
likes  to  be  elegant." 

"  I  know  what  she  was  doing,"  said  Tom  ;  u  she 
was  on  the  sofa  all  the  afternoon,  reading." 


NEW     DUTIES.  163 

"  I  wish  Agues  had  never  learned  to  read,"  said 
Mrs.  Carlton. 

"Well,  Arthur,  what  have  you  to  say?"  said 
Agnes,  "  everybody  has  something  against  me  all 
round.  It  seems  to  me  it's  a  harmless  thing  for  me 
to  go  into  town." 

"  Perhaps  you'll  stay,"  suggested  Jack. 

"  I'm  glad  enough  to  have  you  go  into  town," 
said  Fred,  "  because  you  may  treat  me  to  an  ice  or 
something  after  school." 

"  I'm  going  in  with  the  Lees,"  said  Agnes. 

"  I  wish  you'd  tell  them  to  have  their  names  writ, 
ten  on  their  bonnets,"  said  Fred.  "  I  can't  tell  the 
Lees  apart.  I  can  tell  them  without  their  bonnets. 
The  one  that  has  red  hair  is  Maria." 

"  One  of  them  talks  so  silly  and  mincing,  I  can 
always  tell  which  she  is,"  said  Tom. 

"  Neither  of  the  Lees  has  red  hair,"  said  Agnes, 
indignantly. 

"  Now  I'll  appeal  to  John,"  said  Fred.  "  Don't 
one  of  the  Lees  have  red  hair?  " 

"  It  don't  make  any  difference  what  Jack  says," 
said  Agnes.  "  Maria's  hair  is  a  reddish  brown." 

"  Why,  now,"  said  Jack,  ''  I've  been  wondering 
all  breakfast  time  whether  that  bow  on  your  collar 
was  made  out  of  red  ribbon  or  out  of  one  of  the 
Lee's  hair." 

"  You  are  too  silly,"  said  Agnes. 

"  If  you  are  going  into  town,  Agnes,"  said  Mrs. 
Carlton,  "  there's  some  buttons  and  sewing  silk  to 


1G4  STRUGGLE   FOR   LIFE. 

be  got,  and  then  I  want  you  to  match  that  plaid. 
I'll  show  you  before  you  go  in." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  in  town  ?  "  said  Mr. 
Carlton. 

"  I  think  I  shall  have  my  daguerreotype  taken," 
said  Agnes. 

"  I  don't  like  to  have  you  going  to  daguerreotype 
rooms  with  those  girls,"  said  Mrs.  Carlton.  "  I  wish 
you'd  speak  to  Agnes,  Mr.  Carlton.  I've  sewing 
enough  to  keep  her  at  work  all  day,  and  Agnes 
has  spent  half  her  time  in  town  since  she  came 
home." 

"  Why,  you've  Hannah  to  sew  for  you,"  said 
Agnes.  "  That's  what  she's  here  for." 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  set  the  new  girl  to  sewing,"  said 
Jack.  "  She  knows  dog  stitch  ;  I  guess  she'll  know 
cat  stitch." 

"  I  can't  tell  about  Agnes  going  into  town,"  said 
Mr.  Carlton.  "  I've  just  promised  to  buy  her  a 
season  ticket." 

"  A  season  ticket  1 "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Carlton. 
"  Why,  she'll  be  in  and  out  every  day.  What  are 
you  thinking  of?  " 

"  I've  been  to  school  steadily  the  last  five  years," 
said  Agnes.  "  I  think  I  might  enjoy  myself  a  little 
while  now.  The  rehearsals  begin  very  soon,  and 
then  I  must  go  in  regularly.  I  may  as  well  have 
the  use  of  my  season  ticket  now." 

"  There's  a  great  deal  of  time  wasted  at  those 
rehearsals/'  said  Mrs.  Carlton. 


NEW    DUTIES.  165 

"  I  mean  to  patronize  the  rehearsals  this  year," 
said  Fred.  "  Half  of  the  fellows  are  going,  and  I 
intend  to  invest  in  some  tickets." 

"  You  can  carry  up  Bertha's  breakfast,  Agnes," 
said  Mrs.  Carlton.  "  It  is  time  she  had  it." 

••  Why  don't  you  send  for  Hannah  ?  "  said  Agnes. 
"  I  thought  she  was  to  wait  upon  Bertha.  I  am 
sure  I  haven't  time  this  morning.  I  am  going  to 
call  for  the  Lees,  and  very  likely  they  will  keep 
me  waiting." 

"I  begin  to  pity  the  new  girl,"  said  Tom. 
"  She's  to  do  all  the  sewing  and  all  the  waiting 
that  Agnes  don't  do." 

"  I  thought  you  were  going  to  say  that  Agnes 
used  to  do ! "  said  Jack.  "  That  wouldn't  be 
much." 

"  Here,  Fido  ! "  called  Fred,  and  went  out,  fol 
lowed  by  a  train  of  the  boys. 

"  Don't  stay  up  in  Miss  Bertha's  room  now,"  said 
Mrs.  Carlton  to  Hannah,  when  she  was  called  in. 
"  I  want  you  to  clear  away  the  breakfast  things 
when  you  come  down." 


CHAPTER    XX. 

MOTHER   AND   DAUGHTERS. 

HANNAH  carried  her  tray  slowly  up  stairs.  The 
little  mob  of  boys  were  in  the  entry  below,  looking 
after  their  hats  and  caps.  She  fancied  they  were 
jeering  at  her. 

"  Somebody's  cleared  away  my  cap,"  cried  one. 

"  And  somebody  has  taken  my  hoop-stick,"  said 
another. 

"  You'd  better  look  in  the  kitchen  fire  for  it. 
Some  folks  are  so  clumsy  and  don't  know  any  bet 
ter,"  said  another,  and  great  laughter  followed. 

But  the  hubbub  ceased,  and  the  front  door  was 
slammed  by  the  retiring  army. 

Hannah  rested  her  tray  on  the  stairs.  She  was 
bewildered  and  indignant.  How  could  she  submit 
to  be  treated  in  this  way  ?  And  there  was  nobody 
to  defend  her.  "Why  had  not  she  gone  off  into 
Boston  the  night  before?  She  could  not  stay 
another  day  to  be  insulted  and  oppressed  this  way. 
She  took  up  her  load  again  and  found  her  way  to 
Bertha's  chamber.  She  opened  the  door,  and  \v  hat 
a  quiet  air  she  came  into,  and  what  a  pleasant  light ! 


MOTHER  AND  DAUGHTERS.  167 

There  were  white  muslin  curtains  round  the  win 
dows  and  round  the  bed,  and  the  sunlight  came 
streaming  in  across  the  carpet. 

"  It  is  too  bad  of  me  to  be  so  indolent,"  said 
Bertha,  as  Hannah  entered  the  room,  "  and  to  give 
everybody  such  trouble.  To  think  of  my  having 
my  breakfast  in  bed  !  That  must  seem  quite  too 
luxurious  when  everybody  is  working  hard  in  the 
house.  I  won't  keep  you  waiting  here  long.  If 
you  will  set  the  tray  down,  I  should  like  to  have 
you  bring  me  one  thing.  In  the  little  dressing- 
room  are  my  flowers.  I  could  not  keep  them  here 
through  the  night.  Will  you  bring  me  the  vase 
from  the  round  table  ?  They  are  the  flowers  Amy 
brought  me  yesterday  morning.  Did  you  see  that 
she  cut  one  of  her  own  roses  for  me  ?  That  was 
like  Amy,  wasn't  it  ?  But  you  need  not  stay 
longer.  I  know  you  are  busy  down  stairs.  Per 
haps  when  all  your  work  is  done  you  can  come  in 
for  a  little  while,  to  sit  with  your  sewing ;  it  may 
rest  you." 

Hannah  felt  rested  already  as  she  left  the  room. 
The  quiet  atmosphere,  Bertha's  beautiful  face  and 
gentle  tone,  the  sight  of  Amy's  pet  flowers  that 
she  had  arranged  for  Bertha,  all  softened  Hannah. 
She  went  down  stairs,  and  for  a  little  while  their 
influence  lingered  with  her,  in  the  midst  of  a  wrang 
ling  talk  that  was  going  on  between  Agnes  and  her 
mother. 

Mrs.  Carlton  was  very  injudicious  in  her  attempts 


168  STRUGGLE   FOR   LIFE. 

at  management  of  Agnes.  She  unfortunately 
believed  that  all  reading  was  folly,  and  all  study  a 
waste  of  time.  She  herself  never  spent  her  time 
in  anything  but  sewing  from  morning  till  night. 
Her  own  mind  had  always  been  taken  up  with  the 
making  up  of  her  household  linen,  with  all  the 
details  of  needlework,  and  she  expected  her  daugh 
ters  to  follow  in  the  same  useful  track.  When 
Bertha  was  a  child  she  had  instructed  her  carefully 
in  this  branch  of  fine  sewing.  She  was  very  much 
shocked  when  Bertha  went  to  school  and  showed  a 
desire  to  learn  something  else. 

Bertha  pleaded  that  all  the  other  girls  were  per 
mitted  to  read  and  study,  but  Mrs.  Carlton  sup 
posed  it  to  be  the  depravity  of  the  generation,  and 
believed  it  would  grow  wiser  in  time,  and  learn  that 
its  daughters  should  know  only  how  to  make  shirts 
and  sheets,  and  that  it  was  not  important  they  should 
know  anything  else.  But  Bertha,  with  her  industry 
and  her  eagerness  to  keep  up  in  school  with  the  friends 
of  her  own  age,  had  been  able  to  gratify  her  moth 
er's  desires  and  her  own.  She  managed  to  make 
herself  a  bright,  intelligent  scholar,  and  to  satisfy 
her  mother's  demands  at  home.  She  sewed  dili 
gently  and  steadily,  and  read  and  studied  as  earn 
estly.  She  even  won  her  mother's  consent  to 
read  such  useless  books  as  Scott's  novels,  and  the 
like.  Her  mother  considered  it  a  waste  of  time, 
but  Bertha  was  generally  so  active  and  busy,  she 
might  be  permitted  to  waste  a  little  time.  It  was 


MOTHER   AND   DAUGHTERS.  169 

not  so  dangerous  for  her  as  for  some  girls  who 
spent  their  time  in  nothing  but  reading.  Bertha 
did  more  than  this.  She  was  always  ready  to  help 
the  younger  children.  She  spent  all  her  spare  time 
from  school  with  her  sewing  in  the  nursery,  where 
the  little  army  of  boys  were  collected,  and  was  at  hand 
to  help  our  their  knots  and  soothe  over  their  little 
quarrels.  She  knew  how  to  suggest  plays  when 
they  were  tired  of  the  old  ones,  or  would  tell 
tell  them  a  story  while  she  finished  "  this  piece  of 
work  for  mamma."  Mrs.  Caiiton  sat  there,  undis 
turbed  by  the  tumult  around  her.  She  was  so 
taken  up  with  her  stitching  and  her  long  seams, 
that  her  ears  seemed  to  have  grown  indurated  to 
all  noise.  The  children  seldom  thought  of  appeal 
ing  to  her.  If  they  did  in  extreme  cases,  the  most 
innocent  were  often  the  most  severely  scolded  and 
punished,  for  she  had  no  time  to  inquire  into  the 
source  of  the  trouble.  Bertha  was  notable  to  bear 
this  long.  She  had  taken  a  violent  cold,  and  then 
a  fever  followed.  She  thought  slie  was  well  again, 
and  tried  to  go  through  all  the  old  duties.  But 
often  she  was  obliged  to  lean  back  in  her  chair,  her 
head  weary  with  the  noise  round  her,  and  her  pale 
hands  folded  over  her  work.  At  last  she  was 
obliged  to  give  up  school,  and  presently,  work.  It 
was  only  within  the  last  year  that  Mrs.  Carlton  had 
begun  to  see  that  Bertha  was  really  ill ;  that  she 
was  coughing  badly:  that  she  must  not  let  her  sit 
with  the  children  ;  that  slip  herself  must  watch  to 


170  STRUGGLE   FOR   LIFE. 

see  that  Bertha  did  not  tire  herself.  Fred  was 
proud  of  discoursing  with  the  younger  children  of 
those  happy  days  when  Bertha  was  well  and  used 
to  play  with  them.  Bertha  was  not  like  Agnes,  to 
think  that  boys  were  only  great  plagues.  Even 
now  Bertha  ventured  to  sit  a  little  while  in  the 
play-room,  and  while  she  was  there  the  tumult 
-would  be  quieted.  Tom  would  refrain  from  knock 
ing  down  Harry's  brick  house,  and  Jack  fin-1  some 
thing  better  to  do  than  upsetting  Arthur  and  all 
the  chairs  in  the  room. 

Mrs.  Carlton  had  met  with  a  great  disappoint 
ment  in  teaching  Agnes.  She  was  not  like  Bertha. 
She  was  gay  and  wild,  without  any  special  fault, 
but  a  dislike  to  be  pinned  down  to  tiresome  sew 
ing.  She  became  so  unmanageable  that,  in  a  fit  of 
despair,  Mrs.  Carlton  sent  Agnes  off  to  a  boarding- 
school,  a  school  of  which  she  knew  nothing,  except 
that  "  the  Lees "  went  there.  Mrs.  Carlton  had 
always  professed  a  dislike  to  the  Lees,  as  being 
idle  girls,  and  likely  to  set  Agnes  a  bad  example, 
but  as  she  had  no  higher  object  in  sending  Agnes 
away  than  to  throw  off  the  responsibility  from 
herself,  it  was  not  inconsistent  that  she  should 
send  her  to  the  first  school  that  offered  itself. 
Bertha  regretted  it  deeply.  She  wanted  Agnes  at 
home.  She  wanted  her  to  care  for  and  love  the 
boys.  Her  own  illness,  her  loss  of  strength,  pre 
vented  her  from  doing  all  she  could  do  for  them, 
and  longed  to  flo  herself.  She  believed  if  Agnes 


MOTHEE   AND    DAUGHTERS.  171 

could  only  grow  up  a  little  longer  at  home,  she 
must  learn  to  love  these  duties  as  she  herself  did; 
and  she  saw,  on  the  other  hand,  that  Agnes  was 
growing  even  more  weaned  from  them. 

Mrs.  Carlton  regretted  that  she  had  not  another 
daughter  to  bring  up  to  her  favorite  occupation. 
The  boys,  of  course,  scorned  the  idea  of  sitting 
still  for  a  moment.  Only  little  Arthur,  who  was 
more  delicate  than  the  others  in  his  organization, 
and  shrank  sometimes  from  their  rough  plays,  con 
sented  to  learn  a  little  patchwork.  But  he  was  so 
laughed  at  by  his  brothers,  who  called  him  a  "girl- 
boy,"  that  Mrs.  Carlton  had  to  give  him  up  in 
despair. 

Now  that  Agnes  had  returned,  Mrs.  Carlton  was 
very  capricious  and  injudicious  with  her.  She 
held  a  fresh  contest  with  her  every  day.  She 
abused  every  occupation  Agnes  showed  the  least 
interest  in.  She  was  quite  as  loud  in  reproaching 
Agnes  for  waste  of  time,  if  by  chance  she  took  up  a 
volume  of  Macaulay's  History  to  read,  as  if  sitting 
idly  at  the  window.  Agnes,  in  the  end,  took  her 
own  way.  She  went  where  she  pleased,  and  stayed 
out  as  late  as  she  pleased.  She  read  what  she 
chose,  and  had  no  fixed  hours  for  occupation  any 
day.  She  was  a  favorite  in  Langdale.  Everybody 
liked  to  have  her  with  them  on  any  party  of  pleas 
ure,  and  as  she  had  her  own  time  at  her  disposal, 
she  never  refused  any  invitation.  Agnes  was  a 
favorite  of  her  father's,  too.  He  liked  to  have  her 


172  STRUGGLE   FOR   LIFE. 

go  in  and  out  of  town  with  him.  She  picked  up 
gossip  and  lively  stories  with  which  she  enter 
tained  him  in  the  evening  when  he  was  tired. 
Mrs.  Carlton,  through  all  the  warm  summer  even 
ings,  as  well  as  by  the  winter  fireside,  would  be 
sitting  occupied  with  her  absorbing  work,  and  it 
was  a  resource  when  Agnes  could  spare  time  from 
her  numerous  friends  of  the  village,  to  relate  her 
day's  experiences,  set  off  with  brilliant  coloring 
and  due  exaggeration.  He  liked  to  have  her  come 
in  upon  him  in  his  office  in  town.  Her  handsome, 
gay  face  lighted  up  the  dingy  room,  and  put  him 
into  a  mood  to  grant  whatever  she  chose  to  ask 
him. 

This  morning,  Mrs.  Carlton  and  Agnes  were 
arguing  again  the  question  of  her  going  into  town 
so  early. 

"  You  can  be  of  great  help  to  me,"  said  Mrs. 
Carlton,  "  if  you  stay  till  the  afternoon,  and  go  in 
then  to  do  my  shopping." 

"  It's  too  late  now,"  said  Agnes ;  "  I've  put  on 
my  bonnet,  and  it  would  be  a  waste  of  time  to 
take  it  off  again.  Besides,  I  have  promised  the 
Lees." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  your  daguer 
reotype  ? "  asked  Mrs.  Carlton ;  "  you  had  two 
taken  last  week." 

"  It's  only  a  twenty-five  cent  one,"  answered 
Agnes ;  "  I  don't  know  but  I  shall  give  it  to 
Tom  Paxton.  He  wants  a  gallery  of  all  the 


MOTHER  AND    DAUGHTERS.  173 

Langdale  beauties."  And  with  this,  Agnes  hurried 
away. 

Mrs.  Carlton  sank  down,  astonished.  "  Well, 
Mr.  Carlton  ought  to  do  something  about  that ; 
Agnes  does  go  a  little  too  far.  This  comes  of 
teaching  girls,  and  sending  them  to  school." 

Fred  came  in  to  put  up  his  luncheon.  He  went 
into  town  to  school.  Tom,  and  Jack,  and  Arthur 
went  to  the  school  in  Langdale.  Mrs.  Carlton  did 
not  think  it  worth  while  to  teach  Harry  his  letters 
yet,  but  she  was  beginning  to  think  she  must  send 
him  to  school  too.  He  made  as  much  noise  as  all 
the  rest  of  the  boys  put  together,  when  he  was  left 
at  home. 

There  was  work  for  Hannah  down  stairs.  When 
she  was  through  with  it,  she  was  to  take  her  sew 
ing  to  the  play-room  and  sit  with  Harry.  Mean 
while,  Harry  amused  himself  in  getting  into  all 
sorts  of  mischief.  His  favorite  amusement  was 
sliding  down  the  banisters.  Every  time  Mrs.  Carl- 
ton  passed  through  the  entry,  she  told  him  warn 
ing  stories  of  boys  who  had  broken  their  heads  in 
just  such  dangerous  games.  Harry  kept  on  until 
he  was  allured  by  an  inviting  smell  to  the  kitchen. 
But  Bridget  would  not  suffer  him  to  stay  there 
very  long,  and  he  came  back  as  Mrs.  Carlton  was 
going  into  Bertha's  room.  She  took  Harry  in  with 
her  under  his  promise  of  keeping  perfectly  quiet. 
He  was  allowed  to  take  in  his  last  new  horse, 
which  had  been  brought  to  him  last  night.  Its 


174  STRUGGLE  FOB  LIFE. 

tail  and  one  leg  were  already  broken  off,  so  that  all 
zest  in  playing  with  it  was  destroyed,  but  still  it 
was  a  worthy  object  to  display  to  Bertha.  Han 
nah  knocked  at  Bertha's  door  to  tell  Mrs.  Carlton 
she  had  done  all  she  had  been  told. 

"  Have  you  cleaned  the  knives,  cleared  away 
the  breakfast  things,  swept  and  dusted  the  parlor, 
shaken  the  mats,  etc.  ?"  Mrs.  Carlton  asked.  "  You 
may  stay  here  then,  and  do  what  Bertha  needs  of 
you,  and  then  come  in  to  your  sewing.  Here  is 
the  morning  half  gone,  and  I  have  not  accom 
plished  anything.  If  Agnes  had  not  gone  into 
town,  she  might  have  shown  Hannah  about,  and 
left  me  a  little  time  for  my  sewing.  I  don't  know 
how  we  are  ever  to  get  on  with  the  fall  work, 
there  are  so  many  interruptions.  We  shan't  do 
more  than  be  ready  for  winter  when  the  spring 
comes." 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

A   DAY   AT   THE   CARLTONS'. 

MRS.  CARLTON  was  fond  of  pouring  out  the  family 
troubles  into  Bertha's  ears,  and  Bertha  was  very 
willing  to  listen.  It  was  all  she  could  do  to  help 
on  the  family  wheels,  and  she  was  patient  too,  and 
very  thoughtful  in  her  suggestions. 

Hannah  now,  under  Bertha's  directions,  set  the 
room  in  order,  putting  away  all  that  gave  it  an  in 
valid  air.  She  brought  the  flowers  to  Bertha  her 
self,  that  she  might  rearrange  them,  and  then  she 
drew  Bertha's  couch  to  the  window.  This  looked 
out  upon  the  quiet  lawn  beside  the  house,  and 
beyond  to  an  outline  of  distant  hills.  The  autumn 
sun  came  in  cheerfully  through  the  almost  bared 
branches  of  an  elm  that  hung  across  a  part  of  the 
window. 

This  was  work  that  Hannah  loved.  She  would 
not  let  a  speck  of  dust  rest  anywhere,  and  her 
touch  gave  a  finished  air  of  neatness  to  the  room. 
She  did  it  quickly,  too,  lest  she  should  be  suddenly 
called  away  before  all  should  be  in  proper  order. 

"  Now  will  you  bring  me  my  books  ?  I  will  have 
them  on  the  table  by  my  side,"  said  Bertha. 


176  STRUGGLE  FOE  LIFE. 

"  Can  you  read  much,  Miss  Bertha  ? "  asked 
Hannah. 

<l  It  tires  me  so  that  I  can  read  but  little,"  said 
Bertha,  *'  but  I  love  these  books  so  much,  that  it 
seems  like  having  friends,  to  see  them  here  near  me. 
And  then  I  read  when  I  am  tired  of  thinking." 

"  Oh,  Miss  Bertha,  the  time  must  go  very  slow 
when  you  are  so  much  alone,"  said  Hannah. 

"  I  have  a  great  deal  to  think  about,"  said  Bertha, 
"  and  the  sky  outside  and  my  flowers  to  look  at. 
And  Amy  is  here  every  day  and  my  other  friends. 
You  will  see  I  am  not  so  very  much  alone."  Ber 
tha  gave  a  kindly  smile  of  thanks  as  Hannah  left 
the  room,  and  said,  "  My  room'  has  not  looked  so 
neat  and  cheerful  this  long  time." 

Hannah  went  into  the  play-room  where  Mrs.  Carl- 
ton  was  sewing.  Harry  had  made  a  train  of  cars 
of  all  the  chairs  in  the  room,  except  the  one  Mrs. 
Carlton  occupied.  A  contest  arose  between  Mrs. 
Carlton  and  Harry,  she  insisting  that  he  must  give 
up  a  seat  to  Hannah.  Harry  was  the  victor.  He 
declared  his  train  was  full,  and  he  could  not  spare 
a  single  car,  and  Hannah  was  sent  into  the  next 
room  for  a  chair.  But  she  did  not  sit  long  in  quiet, 
her  work  was  constantly  interrupted  by  Harry's 
demands.  He  was  used  to  having  the  other  boys 
to  play  with  him,  and  he  did  not  know  how  to 
amuse  himself.  Presently  the  door  opened  gently, 
and  Amy  appeared. 

"  I  came  in  a  minute  to  see  how  you  and  Hannah 


A  DAY  AT  THE   CARLTONS'.  177 

are  getting  on  this  morning.     I  can't  stop  long,  I 
am  going  in  to  see  Bertha." 

"  Everything  is  dreadfully  behindhand,"  said 
Mrs.  Carlton,  "  we  grow  worse  and  worse  every 
day.  It  is  such  a  piece  of  work  to  get  the  children 
off  to  school,  and  then  they  are  at  home  again  before 
I  have  time  to  turn  round." 

"We  are  all  well  at  home  Hannah,"  said  Amy, 
"  Miss  Elspeth  was  in  this  morning  a  little  while, 
and  she  says  they  are  all  well  there." 

"  How  is  Mrs.  Campbell  ?  "  asked  Hannah. 

"  She  seems  better  this  morning,  I  am  going  to 
take  her  to  drive  when  I  go  home,"  said  Amy ;  "  I 
have  been  teaching  the  children.  We  all  miss  you 
very  much." 

"  You  are  very  good  to  teach  those  children," 
said  Mrs.  Carlton,  "  but,  as  Miss  Dora  says,  where's 
the  use  of  so  much  teaching  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Carltou ;  I  don't  think  any  of  us  learn 
or  teach  too  much ;  "  said  Amy  laughing,  as  she 
hurried  away  to  Bertha. 

"  I  don't  see  where  Amy  finds  time  to  do  so 
much,"  said  Mrs.  Carlton ;  "  I  should  think  things 
must  go  behindhand  somewhere  in  the  house.  She 
is  so  busy  with  sewing  circles  and  book  clubs  and 
those  things.  The  sewing  circles  are  well  enough, 
only  anybody  might  accomplish  twice  as  much  sew 
ing  staying  at  home.  All  this  going  out  takes  up 
so  much  time.  Now  Agnes  —  " 

Mrs.  Carlton's  speculations  were  interrupted  by 
12 


178  STRUGGLE  FOR  LIFE. 

a  loud  bang  at  the  front  door.  "  The  boys  have 
come  home  from  school,"  she  sighed.  A  loud  clat 
ter  of  heavy  boots  was  heard  on  the  stairs.  "  The 
boys  have  come,  the  boys  have  come,  I'm  so  glad," 
Harry  exclaimed  as  he  rushed  to  the  door.  "  Come 
along,  Harry,"  said  Tom,  "  we  are  going  to  have  a 
great  time  down  in  the  swamp." 

"  Now  you  are  not  going  to  take  Harry  down 
there,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Carlton ;  "  he  came  in  with 
his  feet  wet  through  this  morning.  His  boots  are 
not  so  thick  as  yours." 

"  You  should  get  him  some  dumpers  then,"  said 
Tom,  "but  we  want  something  to  eat." 

-  Hannah,  you  can  get  the  boys  some  luncheon," 
said  Mrs.  Carlton,  "  if  Bridget  can  find  any.  I  de 
clare,  it  seems  as  if  we  had  just  done  breakfast. 
And  you'll  have  to  tell  Bridget  to  show  you  about 
laying  the  dinner-table.  Now,  Harry,  you  had  bet 
ter  stay  in." 

But  Harry  was  already  half  way  down  stairs. 

The  house  was  not  left  long  in  peace.  There 
were  constant  emissaries  back  to  it.  Jack  wanted 
a  hammer,  that  Hannah  must  find  for  him.  Tom 
came  back  for  some  more  luncheon,  and  Harry 
was  constantly  sent  through  the  mud  to  know 
what  time  it  was,  and  then  'Hannah  must  go 
in  and  look  at  the  parlor  clock.  The  dinner  went 
through  with  turmoil  and  confusion.  Agnes  and 
Mr.  Carlton  not  being  there,  the  boys  had  the  talk 
all  to  themselves.  They  were  loud  in  their  vocif- 


A    DAY   AT  THE    CARLTONS'.  179 

erations  of  what  they  would  be  helped  to.  Hannah 
was  bewildered  by  the  crossfire  of  demands  made 
upon  her,  and  any  little  hesitation  or  mistake  on 
her  part  was  received  with  laughter  and  reproaches. 
It  came  out  by  their  talk  what  was  the  great  work 
they  were  all  so  busy  about.  They  were  building 
a  bridge  over  one  part  of  the  swamp. 

"  We  shall  hurry  home  from  school,  just  as  fast 
as  we  can,"  said  Tom,  "  so  as  to  get  as  much  as 
possible  done  before  Fred  comes  out  to-night." 

"  I  shall  speak  to  your  father  about  it,"  said  Mrs. 
Carltou  ;  "  I  don't  think  it's  a  safe  business  to  be 
working  in  the  swamp  so,  and  Harry  is  all  mud. 
You  might  pay  a  little  consideration  to  his  clothes, 
if  you  won't  to  your  own." 

"  If  Harry  is  dressed  girl-fashion,  he  had  better 
stay  at  home  like  a  girl,"  said  Tom. 

"  I  won't  be  a  girl,"  said  Harry,  "  and  I  won't 
stay  at  home.  I  don't  care  for  my  clothes." 

"  It"  will  take  me  all  the  afternoon  to  wash  him 
and  make  him  decent,"  said  Mrs.  Carlton. 

But  the  boys  hurried  through  their  dinner  and 
were  off  at  school  again,  and  Harry  kept  out  of  his 
mother's  way  as  long  as  possible,  that  he  might 
not  remind  her  of  his  disgraced  appearance.  Han 
nah  was  sent  after  him,  and  went  through  a  long 
struggle  with  him.  Harry  imitated  his  older 
brothers  in  their  treatment  of  her. 

"  You  may  take  your  work  into  Miss  Bertha's 
room,  this  afternoon,"  said  Mrs.  Carlton ;  "  that's 


180  STRUGGLE   FOR  LIFE. 

the  only  place  in  the  house  that's  quiet,  and  I 
want  that  stitching  done  to-day."  It  was  quiet  as 
always  in  Bertha's  room. 

"  I  have  had  a  little  visit  from  Mrs.  Paxton, 
this  afternoon/'  said  Bertha  ;  "  she  came  to  tell  me 
that  Eleonora's  husband,  Mr.  Strange,  is  quite  ill 
in  Florence.  Poor  Nora !  it  must  be  very  hard 
for  her,  so  far  away  from  home." 

"  What  does  Mrs.  Paxton  say  about  it  ?  "  asked 
Mrs.  Carlton. 

"  I  tried  to  persuade  her  to  go  out  to  Nora," 
said  Bertha,  "  but  she  thinks  it  would  be  impossi 
ble  for  her  to  get  away." 

Mrs.  Carlton  left  the  room  to  find  Harry. 

"  Miss  Nora  never  has  had  any  trouble  before," 
said  Hannah. 

"  She  has  never  had  much  pleasure,  either," 
said  Bertha ;  "  she  has,  indeed,  never  known  this 
kind  of  trouble,  with  her  children,  too,  to  care  for." 

"  She  always  seemed  so  stately,"  said  Hannah, 
"  that  I  can't  think  of  her  being  sorrowful." 

"  She  has  never  been  moved  much,  either  way," 
said  Bertha ;  "  that  will  make  it  harder  for  her 
when  she  comes  to  suffer." 

"  It  seemed  as  if  she  lived  only  to  have  a  good 
time,"  said  Hannah ;  "  she  has  always  had  every 
thing  she  wanted  when  she  was  at  home,  and  then 
she  went  away  to  travel  just  where  she  pleased." 

"  Yet  you  never  saw  her  look  very  cheerful  or 
happy,  Hannah,"  said  Bertha.  "  I  don't  know  how 


A  DAY  AT  THE   CARLTONS'.  181 

it  has  been  since  she  was  married,  since  she  went 
away.  She  writes  home  letters  filled  with  de 
scriptions  of  beautiful  places  she  has  seen,  but 
they  are  not  very  happy  letters." 

Agnes  opened  the  door  at  this  moment,  and  put 
in  her  head.  "  I  thought  I  would  tell  you  that 
I'd  got  home,  and  I've  had  a  first-rate  time." 

"  Oh,  come  in,  come  in,  Agnes,"  said  Bertha. 

"  I've  seen  a  little  of  everybody,"  said  Agnes, 
coming  in,  "  and  have  bought  me  a  new  dress. 
The  shops  are  full  of  such  beautiful  things,  one 
wants  to  buy  everything,  though  I  can't  think 
when  I  shall  wear  this.  Oh,  such  colored  ribbons, 
Bertha ! " 

"But  come  here  a  moment;  come  nearer  to  me," 
said  Bertha ;  "  what  is  this  about  the  daguerreo 
type?  Mother  is  quite  worried.  You  don't  mean 
to  give  it  to  Tom  Paxton,  with  all  the  other  girls?" 

"  Oh,  dear,  no ;  I  just  said  it,"  said  Agnes ;  "  I 
did  not  even  have  it  taken.  There  was  such  a 
crowd  of  people  at  the  place,  I  couldn't  wait.  I 
only  said  it  to  make  a  fuss.  Mother  is  worrying 
so  all  the  time,  I  thought  she  might  just  as  well 
have  something  to  fuss  about." 

"  0  Agnes  !  why  will  you  do  so  ?  "  said  Bertha, 
troubled. 

"  Well,  because  I  am  Agnes,"  she  answered ; 
"  you  know  you  are  here  to  be  the  good  one,  and  I 
may  as  well  vary  the  subject  by  being  bad." 

The  tears  came  into  Bertha's  eyes. 


182  STRUGGLE  FOR  LIFE. 

"  You  needn't  be  troubled,"  said  Agnes ;  "  I 
have  to  fight  my  battles.  I'll  try  to  keep  them 
out  or  your  room,  that  is  all." 

"  It  would  be  easy  for  you  to  get  along  without 
fighting,"  said  Bertha,  "  it  is  so  easy  for  you  to 
please  people." 

"  I  should  grow  tired  of  clear  admiration,"  said 
Agnes ;  "  I  like  variety,  and  I  don't  mind  being 
talked  at.  I  like  to  have  people  talk  at  me  and 
about  me,"  and  Agnes  gave  one  of  her  favorite 
shakes  to  her  head,  and  went  out  of  the  room. 

Much  to  Mrs.  Carlton's  satisfaction,  Hannah  fin 
ished  the  appointed  task  of  stitching,  in  the  midst 
of  her  other  duties.  Mrs.  Carlton  praised  Han 
nah's  powers,  and  said  Miss  Elspeth  was  an  excel 
lent  teacher.  The  boys  all  came  home  to  a  late 
supper  from  their  labors  in  the  swamp.  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Carlton  left  the  tea-table  to  them,  under  Han 
nah's  care.  Fred  pronounced  the  great  work  of 
the  bridge  to  be  going  on  admirably.  Agnes  came 
in  to  hear  the  account. 

"  What's  the  use  of  having  a  bridge  into  a 
swamp  ?  "  she  asked ;  "  nobody  wants  to  go  there 
but  the  turtles  and  frogs.  You  boys  had  rather 
wet  your  feet  than  not." 

"  You  ought  to  be  grateful,  Agnes,"  said  Tom  j 
"  girls  are  always  wanting  to  be  getting  at  flowers 
in  swampy  places.  Now,  you'll  only  have  to  cross 
the  bridge." 

"  I  suppose  you've  pulled  up  all  the  flowers, 
making  it,"  said  Agnes. 


A   DAY   AT  THE   CARLTONS'.  183 

"  Oh  !  it's  great  fun/7  exclaimed  Harry. 

"  I  should  think  so,"  said  Agnes  ;  "  you  look  as 
if  you  had  been  up  to  your  ears  in  the  mud  all 
day." 

The  elder  boys  were  left  to  study  their  evening 
lessons  in  the  dining-room.  Hannah  assisted  in 
bearing  the  struggling  Harry  away  to  bed.  Agnes 
held  a  conclave  of  the  Lees  at  the  door.  Then 
she  piled  up  the  cushions  on  the  sofa,  and  after 
she  was  comfortably  arranged,  amused  herself  by 
giving  her  father  a  lively  account  of  her  day's 
proceedings. 


CHAPTER    XXII. 

A  WEEK. 

THE  first  day  had  passed  away  at  her  new  home. 
It  had  seemed  very  long  to  Hannah.  She  was 
amazed  at  its  close  to  find  herself  looking  forward 
with  some  interest  to  the  coming  of  another. 
She  was  excited  by  the  little  details  that  came 
along  to  interrupt  its  course,  and  she  rose  with 
unexpected  alacrity  to  its  new  duties.  She  was 
not  greeted  this  morning  by  the  shower  of  boots 
that  had  roused  her  the  day  before.  She  went  for 
them  herself,  and  found  it  hard  labor  to  free  them 
from  the  mud  of  their  work  in  the  swamp.  The 
duties  that  followed  were  very  much  those  of  the 
first  day.  There  was  the  same  rush  and  hurry  of 
the  boys,  and  noise  and  confusion  while  they  were 
in  the  house.  But  in  these  last  lingering  days  of 
autumn  they  were  occupied  out  of  doors  almost  all 
the  time  they  were  not  at  school.  They  brought 
in  with  them  great  quantities  of  mud,  much  to 
Mrs.  Carlton's  horror,  \vhenever  they  came  in, 
while  Hannah  persevered  admirably  with  her  sew 
ing  in  their  absence. 


A  WEEK.  185 

Bertha  was  very  much  alone.  It  was  true  that 
she  had  many  friends  who  came  often  to  see  her, 
but  it  was  at  uncertain  hours.  Amy  was  with  her 
a  few  moments  every  day.  Agnes  was  very  capri 
cious  in  her  attention  to  Bertha.  Sometimes  she 
seemed  to  exert  herself  as  much  as  possible  to 
entertain  her.  She  would  sit  with  her  and  watch 
her  motions  and  offer  her  whatever  she  needed. 
No  one  could  be  more  amusing. than  Agnes  was  at 
such  times,  nor  more  tender  in  her  manners.  But 
she  would  be  gone  whole  mornings  or  afternoons, 
scarcely  seeing  Bertha  for  the  whole  day.  Some 
days,  without  telling  any  one  her  plans  for  the  day, 
visiting  the  neighbors,  or  walking  with  her  friends, 
lounging  away  her  time  in  lively  thoughtlessness. 

Bertha  liked  to  have  the  boys  come  in  to  see  her, 
and  they  always  behaved  gently  and  thoughtfully 
while  in  her  room.  She  showed  them  her  flowers 
and  her  pictures.  They  brought  home  wonderful 
specimens  of  flowers  that  they  had  picked  pur 
posely  for  Bertha,  which  she  always  received  cor 
dially,  and  treasured. 

"  How  can  you  keep  those  weeds  to  litter  up 
the  room  ?  "  Agnes  exclaimed.  "  That  sprangling 
golden  rod,  and  there's  a  real  mullein  Jack  t  has 
brought  in  to  you." 

"  I  always  liked  the  golden  rod,"  said  Bertha. 
"  You  ought  to  admire  its  bright  color  with  those 
purple  asters." 

"  Why,  you  can  see  them  all  along  the  roadside." 
said  Agnes. 


186  STRUGGLE  FOR  LIFE. 

"  You  forget,"  said  Bertha,  "  that  I  can't  see 
them.  You  know  it  is  only  very  rarely,  now  that 
the  warm  days  are  passing  away,  that  I  can  go  out 
to  see  golden  rod  and  asters.  I  like  to  have  it  in 
the  room.  It  makes  me  think  of  the  broad  fields 
of  it  on  the  edge  of  the  road,  bowing  in  the 
wind." 

"  Well,  I  should  as  soon  think  of  caring  for  the 
road  fence,"  said  Agnes. 

Agnes  was  fond  of  throwing  off  the  little  labors 
she  should  have  performed  at  home  upon  Hannah. 
She  sent  her  upon  errands,  gave  her  work  of  all 
sorts  to  do,  and  called  upon  her  continually.  Even 
Mrs.  Carlton  remonstrated. 

"  It  wouldn't  hurt  you,  Agnes,  to  do  some  of 
your  going  up  and  down  stairs  yourself.  Hannah 
has  enough  to  be  busy  about." 

"  She's  paid  to  do  the  work,"  said  Agnes,  unfeel 
ingly,  "  and  I  am  not.  If  she  thinks  the  work  too 
hard,  she  can  go." 

The  consequence  was,  that  Hannah  did  have  to 
work  very  hard.  She  was  called  upon  by  every 
body  for  every  kind  of  service,  and  service  that 
was  not  requested  but  demanded.  She  was  sitting 
one  morning  with  her  work  in  the  play-room.  The 
morning's  labors  had  been  unusually  hard  and  try 
ing  and  she  leaned  back  in  her  chair  a  moment,  her 
hands  resting  upon  her  sewing.  The  boys  had 
come  home  from  school,  and  were  all  out  at  play, 
except  Arthur,  who  stood  by  the  window.  He 
turned  round  suddenly. 


A   WEEK.  187 

"  Are  you  tired  of  sewing?"  he  asked  of  Hannah. 

Hannah  was  surprised  at  his  observing  her,  and 
went  on  with  her  work. 

"  No,  I  am  not  tired  of  sewing.     I  like  to  sew." 

"  Then  I  suppose  you  are  tired  of  running  about 
so  up  and  down  stairs." 

"  I  am  used  to  that,"  said  Hannah. 

"  Then  you   must  be   tired   of    being   ordered 
about,"  said  Arthur.     "  I  hate  it.     That's  why  I've 
come  in.     I  don't  mind  Fred's  sending  me  round, 
but  when  it  comes  to  Tom  and  Jack's  ordering  me' 
about,  I  can't  stand  it." 

"  I  don't  mind  that,"  said  Hannah ;  "  that  does 
not  tire  me." 

"  What  makes  you  look  so  tired  all  the  time, 
then?" 

"Do  I  look  tired?"  asked  Hannah.  "I  didn't 
know  it.  It  does  not  tire  me  to  work,  because  I 
am  used  to  it.  I  would  like  to  work  for  some  peo 
ple  all  day  long.  I  like  to  work  for  Miss  Bertha 
because  she  is  so  kind ;  she  is  pleased  with  what  I 
do  for  her." 

"  Other  people  like  what  you  do,"  said  Arthur. 
"  Fred  says  you're  a  trump." 

"  I  didn't  know  I  ever  pleased  him,"  said  Han- 
nah.  "  He  is  talking  at  me  all  the  time." 

"  Well,  you  can't  expect  him  to  be  praising  you 
up ;  that  is  girls'  way,"  said  Arthur.  "  But  it  is 
very  easy  to  know  when  you've  pleased  Fred,  and 
then  the  rest  of  the  boys  always  think  as  he 
does." 


188  STRUGGLE   FOR   LIFE. 

Arthur  was  already  tired  of  staying  in  the  house, 
and  he  left  Hannah,  a  little  encouraged  that  she 
was  beginning  to  find  favor  with  those  autocrats, 
"  the  boys."  Saturday  evening  she  went  to  Miss 
Elspeth's.  Through  the  week,  since  Monday  night, 
when  she  left  them,  she  had  seen  Bessie,  Margie, 
and  Martha  occasionally,  and  Amy  every  day  for  a 
few  moments.  Sunday  morning,  when  Hannah  went 
in  with  Bertha's  breakfast,  she  lingered  to  speak 
with  her.  She  had  something  to  say  which  she 
found  it  hard  to  express. 

"  I  don't  know  as  I  have  any  right  to  think  about 
it,  Miss  Bertha,"  she  began,  "but  Miss  Elspeth 
encouraged  me  to  think  there  was  no  harm,  though 
it  was  a  little  plan  I  made  all  myself." 

"What  is  it?"  said  Bertha. 

Hannah  brought  our  her  plan  clumsily. 

"  I  wished  I  had  time  and  knew  how  better  to 
read  to  you,  and  then  I  thought  Margie  was  such 
a  good  reader,  and  she  would  like  to  read  to  you  so 
much.  There  are  so  many  of  your  books  that  you 
are  not  well  enough  to  read,  Miss  Bertha,  and  Miss 
Amy  has  not  time  either." 

"  But  Margie  has  not  time,"  said  Bertha.  "  Did 
you  think  of  asking  her  to  come  to  me  ?  Hannah, 
I  should  be  afraid  Miss  Elspeth  had  enough  for  her 
to  dp,  and  Margie  is  too  young  to  give  up  her  play 
hours  to  me." 

"  Oh,  I  spoke  to  Margie  about  it  last  night,"  said 
Hannah,  "  and  she  was  quite  glad  with  pleasure  at 
the  thought  of  coming,  and  hoped  you  would  let 


A  WEEK.  189 

her.  She  is  so  fond  of  reading.  They  say  she 
likes  to  read  one  book  as  well  as  another.  She 
begged  that  she  might  come." 

"And  Miss  Elspeth?"  asked  Bertha. 

"  Miss  Elspeth  was  much  pleased  too,"  said  Han 
nah.  "  She  said  the  books  you  would  like  to  hear 
read  would  do  Margie  good.  Margie  said  she 
would  come  any  day  or  every  day.  I  told  them  I 
thought  you  were  most  alone  in  the  early  part  of 
the  afternoon;  that  you  could  not  always  sleep 
then." 

"  Hannah,"  said  Bertha,  "  it  pleases  me  to  have 
you  so  thoughtful  of  me.  It  pleases  me  as  much 
as  it  will  to  have  Margie  come  and  read  to  me. 
And  then  you  have  chosen  the  right  time  too  !  It 
is  the  hardest  part  of  the  day  with  me.  I  grow 
tired  then,  and  am  often  alone." 

"  Then  you  will  let  Margie  come?"  asked  Han 
nah,  eagerly. 

"  Very  gladly,"  said  Bertha.  "  She  must  not 
come  every  day,  though.  We  will  try  every  other 
day.  I  shall  like  to  have  it  to  look  forward  to." 

"Then  I  may  tell  Margie  this  morning?"  said 
Hannah.  "  I  shall  see  her  on  the  way  to  church. 
She  said  she  should  come  and  meet  mo,  she  was  so 
anxious  to  know." 

Hannah  went  back  to  the  Sunday  morning's 
duties,  which  were  always  especially  confusing. 
The  boys  were  always  late  at  breakiayt,  and  then 
they  were  to  be  dressed  for  church.  In  a  most 


190  STRUGGLE  FOR  LIFE. 

distracting  manner  Hannah  was  called  in  every 
direction.  At  one  moment  she  was  expected  to 
carry  hot  water  to  Mr.  Carlton ;  to  find  a  missing 
shoe  of  Harry's  ;  to  hunt  up  Tom's  cap,  and  to  set 
tle  a  difference  between  Tom  and  Jack  as  to  the 
ownership  of  the  only  cap  that  could  be  found. 
There  was  great  shouting  up  stairs  and  down. 
Agnes  was  secluded  a  long  time  in  her  room,  and 
then  came  out  in  magnificent  array.  She  stood  in 
the  entry,  laughing  at  the  "  set "  of  the  boys'  Sun 
day  collars.  Harry  had  a  violent  fit  of  crying  from 
some  unknown  cause.  Jack  upset  Arthur,  who 
was  already  dressed  for  church. 

"  Dear  me  !  I  should  think  it  was  Babel  instead 
of  Sunday  morning,"  said  Mrs.  Carlton ;  "  Agnes, 
why  can't  you  help  somebody,  instead  of  standing 
there  irritating  the  boys?" 

"  I'm  only  giving  them  some  wholesome  advice," 
said  Agnes. 

"  Agnes  looks  like  a  peacock  with  its  tail  spread," 
said  Jack  ;  "  she  has  on  all  the  colors  of  the  rain 
bow." 

"  I  should  think  she  might  find  my  cap,"  said 
Tom  ;  "  I  can't  wear  my  straw  hat  to  church,  the 
brim  is  half  torn  off." 

"  Who  has  lost  a  cap  ?  "  said  Fred,  who  had  been 
out  to  inspect  the  barnyard. 

"  It's  Tom's  cap ;  have  you  found  it  ?  "  said  Mrs. 
Carlton,  "  it  is  time  we  started  for  church." 

''•  I  can't  say  it's  much  of  a  find,"  said  Fred ;  "  the 


A   WEEK.  191 

brown  lien  lias  stolen  her  nest  in  somebody's  cap. 
She  looks  as  comfortable  in  it  under  the  barn  stairs 
as  if  it  were  made  for  her.  You  will  have  to  do 
without  it.  It  wont  do  to  disturb  her." 

"  Under  the  barn  stairs  !  what  a  place  for  your 
cap,  Tom  !  "  said  Mrs.  Carlton. 

"I  don't  believe  it's  mine,  it's  just  like  Jack  to 
leave  his  there,"  said  Tom,  as  he  joined  the  rush  to 
see  the  brown  hen's  nest.- 

"  I'm  so  tired  by  the  time  I  get  to  church,  Sun 
day  mornings,"  said  Mrs.  Carlton,  "  that  I  don't 
have  strength  to  listen  to  the  sermon  ;  I  am  all  in  a 
flutter  now.  You  might  have  been  in  Bertha's 
room  the  last  half  hour  making  yourself  useful, 
Agnes." 

"  I  don't  like  to  be  useful  Sundays,"  said  Agnes, 
setting  forth  as  she  saw  the  Lees  passing  the  door. 
Hannah  had  barely  time  to  prepare  herself  for 
church.  She  was  in  as  great  a  flurry  as  Mrs.  Carl- 
ton.  It  rejoiced  her  to  meet  Margie  and  to  see  her 
delight  when  she  was  told  that  Bertha  was  willing 
she  should  read  to  her. 

"  What  a  nice  thought  it  was  of  yours  !  "  Margie 
exclaimed  ;  "  I  shall  thank  you  for  it  to  the  end  of 
my  life  !  Bertha  is  so  lovely  and  so  beautiful  it  will 
make  me  happy  to  be  near  her." 

Hannah  was  indeed  encouraged  to  think  that  she 
could  make  a  plan  that  should  be  so  well  thought 
of.  It  was  a  new  feeling  with  which  she  entered 
church.  It  gave  her  an  unusual  confidence  in  her- 


192  STRUGGLE  FOR  LIFE. 

self,  a  consciousness  that  she  was  of  worth  to  some 
body.  The  remembrance  of  the  little  jars  of  the 
morning,  its  disagreements,  passed  away,  and  she 
felt  more  than  ever  before  the  solemnity  of  the 
place  she  had  entered.  Before,  she  was  often  list 
less  and  inattentive.  To-day  Mr.  Jasper's  words 
were  encouraging  to  her  mood  of  mind. 

Amy  had  observed  a  change  in  the  style  of  Mr. 
Jasper's  preaching  since  he  went  away.  He  was 
younger  then,  but  she  remembered  perfectly  how 
hopefully,  with  what  courage,  he  spoke,  how  earn 
estly  he  exhorted  all  to  go  forward  manfully  in  the 
battle  of  life. 

Now  she  thought  he  spoke  more  sadly,  at  times 
almost  despondingly.  Yet  no  one  else  seemed  to 
remark  this.  His  preaching  was  enthusiastically 
praised.  "  What  an  improvement  upon  old  Mr. 
Peterson,"  said  Agnes  to  Amy  as  she  came  out  of 
church ;  "  I  was  really  beginning  to  give  up  going 
to  church,  when  Mr.  Jasper  came  back." 

Hannah  •  gladly  stayed  at  home  with  Bertha  in 
the  afternoon.  Bertha  was  not  so  well  this  day. 
She  was  more  languid,  but  not  at  all  complaining. 
Her  strength  varied  from  day  to  day.  In  some 
warmer  days  of  November  she  was  strong  enough 
to  go  down  stairs,  to  go  out  occasionally  to  drive. 

When  she  came  down  stairs,  the  boys,  even  the 
younger  ones,  were  devoted  in  their  attentions  to 
her. 

"  It  will  be  fine  when  you  are  well  enough  to 
come  down  every  day  ! "  Tom  said. 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 

THOSE  BOYS! 

THERE  was  a  constant  warfare  between  Agnes 
and  her  brothers.  Their  jarrings  and  bickerings 
formed  the  excitements  of  each  day.  There  was 
a  little  world  of  tumult  seething  in  the  house  all 
the  time.  Mrs.  Carlton  went  on  steadily  with  her 
sewing,  and  the  affairs  of  the  house  moved  along 
smoothly  enough,  but  only  in  Bertha's  room  did 
there  seem  to  be  peace  and  quiet.  This  incessant 
contest  affected  Hannah's  temper  too.  She  became 
sullen  in  her  obedience,  and  impertinent  in  her 
replies  to  the  boys,  and  even  to  Mrs.  Carlton.  Sh@ 
was  sorry  for  what  she  had  said  often  as  soon 
as  she  had  spoken.  It  was  not  natural  J,o  her 
to  yield  to  any  sudden  passion.  She  was  slow  in 
her  thoughts,  and  was  more  wont  to  brood  over  any 
trouble,  and  heighten  it  by  her  mistrust  and  suspi 
cion,  than  to  give  vent  to  her  feelings.  Now  she 
had  not  time  to  bury  herself  in  long  fits  of  doubt. 
One  offence  quickly  followed  upon  another. 

The  faults  of  a  household  spread  from  the  higher 
to  the  lower  members.  Agnes's  talent  for  repartee 
13 


194  STKUGGLE   FOE   LIFE. 

was  very  attractive  to  the  boys,  who  were  crlad  to 
imitate  it.  Without  any  ill-feeling  toward  Hannah, 
they  were  glad  to  make  her  their  butt,  and  expend 
their  wit  upon  her.  Bridget  had  a  gift  of  the 
tongue  too,  and  the  same  warfare  went  on  in  the 
kitchen  that  prevailed  in  the  parlor.  What  a  little 
world  the  four  walls  of  each  house  shut  in!  The 
little  duties  of  each  day  grow  magnified  till  they 
come  to  seem  great  aims.  The  little  differences 
between  one  and  another  are  fostered  till  they  grow 
into  weighty  strifes.  Sickness  and  suffering  are 
hidden  in  one  place,  and  where  there  might  be  hap 
piness  in  another,  there  is  discordance  and  petty 
turmoil.  One  ruling,  cheerful  spirit  might  make  a 
sunny  home  in  all ! 

"If  Bertha  were  only  well !  "  thought  those  who 
looked  a  little  into  the  interior  of  the  Carltons' 
home.  Yet  her  secluded  life  had  its  influence  over 
the  turbid  waves  of  the  little  sea  about  her. 

Agnes,  and  her  friends  the  Lees,  came  in  one 
day,  at  noon,  and  heard  a  great  tittering  in  the 
parlor.  They  stopped  and  looked  through  the 
door.  There  was  Jack  lounging  on  the  sofa,  an  old 
bonnet  of  Agnes's  on  the  back  of  his  head.  The 
bobs  of  his  kite  were  strung  on  each  side  of  his 
face,  and  he  shook  them  as  though  they  were  fall 
ing  ringlets.  He  was  carrying  on  a  talk,  taking  off 
Agnes,  with  Tom,  very  much  to  the  amusement  of 
Harry  and  Arthur,  who  were  rolling  on  the  floor 
with  delight,  and  to  the  entertainment  of  two  of 


THOSE    BOYS.  195 

their  boy  friends.  "  I  saw  such  an  ecstatic  shawl 
yesterday  when  I  went  into  town,"  he  went  on, 
"  it  threw  me  into  supreme  delight !  I  absolutely 
fainted,  and  would  you  believe  it,  Tom  Paxton?  I 
was  carried  into  Vinton's  and  they  had  to  throw 
two  pails  of  ice-cream  over  me  before  I  recovered  ! 
Fortunately,  one  was  flavored  with  vanilla,  which 
you  know  I  detest,  and  that  of  course  roused  me. 
It's  a  happy  thing  my  nerves  are  not  easily  shat 
tered,  or  I  shouldn't  be  here  now!" 

"  That  would  have  heen  a  dreadful  pity,"  said 
Tom.  Jack  ran  on  in  the  same  strain. 

"Those  boys!"  exclaimed  Agnes.  She  kept  in 
her  laughter  and  went  off  to  find  a  great  coat  of 
Fred's,  which  she  put  on  and  returned  with  it  into 
the  room  where  the  boys  were.  She  walked  in, 
her  hands  in  her  pockets,  imitating  Jack's  indiffer 
ent  manner,  and  exaggerating  it,  making  detestable 
puns  and  creating  quite  a  roar  on  her  side. 

"  Well,  you're  a  good-natured  piece  of  elegance," 
said  Jack,  shouting  and  throwing  his  bonnet  on  the 
floor.  Mrs.  Carlton  came  in  at  the  noise. 

"  I  should  really  like  to  know  if  there  are  young 
ladies  in  the  midst  of  all  this  uproar?  Agnes, 
what  are  you  coming  to  next?" 

"  Do  let  her  have  a  little  fun  with  us,"  exclaimed 
Tom.  "  It  isn't  often  she'll  consent  to  be  amusing 
to  us." 

"  I  think  you  are  in  better  business  in  your 
swamp,"  said  Mrs.  Carlton, "  than  cluttering  up  the 


196  STRUGGLE   FOR   LIFE. 

parlor,  and  making  such  a  hideous  noise  in  the 
house." 

"  That's  a  fact,"  said  Jack.  "  Don't  let  us  stay 
any  longer  in  the  house.  Agnes,  why  can't  you 
come  and  see  our  bridge?" 

"  You  can  bring  along  your  Lees  with  you,"  said 
Tom. 

"  Dance  over,  my  Lady  Lee,"  whispered  Jack. 

"  I  don't  care  to  see  your  bridge,"  said  Agnes. 
"  I  don't  want  to  wet  my  feet  through." 

"  Oh,  my  Lady  Elegance  has  on  her  new  boots,'' 
said  Tom. 

"  There's  plenty  of  water  in  case  she  should  faint 
at  sight  of  mud,"  said  Jack. 

"  Don't  say  the  word  mud,  or  she'll  faint  now," 
said  Tom,  "  and  the  Miss  Lees  too."  And  the  whole 
troop  went  clattering  out  of  the  house. 

"  I  should  think  you  might  know  better,"  said 
Mrs.  Carlton,  complainingly,  "  than  to  encourage 
those  boys.  They  talk  enough  as  it  is ! " 

Agnes  and  the  boys  were  not  always  at  sword's 
points.  They  were  very  glad  to  join  in  the  amuse 
ments  that  were  got  up  when  her  friends  came  to 
spend  the  evening  with  her.  They  listened  with  de 
light  to  her  talk,  and  were  ready  to  join  games  and 
dances.  They  liked  nothing  better  than  these  merry 
evenings,  while  the  next  day  they  would  laugh 
unmercifully  at  her  guests,  caricaturing  all  they 
had  said  and  done  the  night  before.  Even  Harry 
was  eager  to  sit  up  on  such  occasions.  Many 


THOSE     BOYS.  197 

times  he  was  rigidly  sent  to  bed,  but  would  appear 
again  at  some  unexpected  door,  or  start  up  from 
behind  a  chair. 

Mr.  Jasper  came  one  day.  He  had  hoped  he 
might  see  Bertha.  But  she  had  not  been  so  well 
for  a  few  days,  and  was  not  down  stairs.  He  found 
a  coterie  of  Agnes's  friends  assembled. 

"  I  was  amazed  to  see  you  at  the  rehearsal,  the 
other  day,"  said  Agnes. 

"  Why  shouldn't  I  be  there?"  asked  Mr.  Jasper. 
"  May  not  I  enjoy  music  as  well  as  any  of  you 
young  folks  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  supposed  you  were  one  of  the  kind  that 
would  not  enjoy  music  when  there  were  other 
people  about,"  said  Agnes.  "  Some  people  are  so 
disturbed  if  you  say  just  a  word  or  shake  your 
head  while  music  is  going  on.  I  wish  they  would 
sit  inside  of  the  organ,  they  could  not  do  anything 
but  hear  there." 

"  And  what  else  do  you  want  to  do?  "  asked  Mr 
Jasper. 

"  Oh,  I  want  to  see  and  to  talk  a  little  myself," 
said  Agnes.  "  It  is  so  tiresome  at  the  rehearsals 
when  they  play  those  long,  solemn  pieces ;  one 
might  as  well  be  at  church." 

"  And  not  better  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Jasper. 

"  Oh,  I  forgot  about  you,"  said  Agnes,  "  and  I 
was  not  thinking  about  your  church." 

"  I  had  rather  you  would  not  think  of  it  as  my 
church,"  said  Mr.  Jasper.  "  I  serve  in  it  only." 


198  STEUGGLE   FOE   LIFE. 

"  But  I  like  to  be  lively  when  I  am  lively,"  said 
Agnes,  "  and  solemn  when  I'm  solemn.  Now  the 
sermon  last  Sunday  made  me  sober,  and  I  liked  it." 

"  Did  you  ?  "  said  Mr.  Jasper.  "  You  gave  me 
a  whole  half  hour,  or  nearly  that  1  I  thank  you  for 
the  present." 

"  I  don't  see  that  it  was  much  of  a  present,"  said 
Agnes.  "  Half  hours  are  cheap.  I  am  glad  to  be 
rid  of  them  sometimes." 

"  I  was  grateful  for  your  attention,"  said  Mr. 
Jasper.  "  Do  you  give  that  often  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  I  attend  to  what  I'm 
about,"  said  Agnes. 

"  What  are  you  about  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Jasper. 

"  It  ought  to  be  something  very  useful  if  I'm 
talking  with  you,  I  suppose,"  replied  Agnes.  "Ev 
erybody  wants  to  set  me  to  work.  Will  you  join 
the  crusade  ?  What  will  you  have  me  give  my 
attention  to  beside  your  sermons  ?  " 

"  Miss  Sally  More  was  calling  at  the  Fays,  when 
I  met  you  there  yesterday,"  said  Mr.  Jasper. 

"  Yes  ;  how  she  did  look  ! "  said  Agnes. 

"  I  saw  you  were  studying  her,"  said  Mr.  Jas 
per.  "  I  dare  say  you  could  tell  me  just  how  she 
was  dressed." 

"  Oh,  I  meant  to  tell  it  all  to  the  girls  here," 
said  Agnes.  "  It  was  a  plum-colored  silk  ;  a  real 
old-fashioned  plum-color.  I  had  half  a  mind  to 
bring  out  some  of  the  Fays'  plums  to  see  if  they 
would  not  match.  Then  she  had  an  immense 


THOSE    BOYS.  199 

parasol  of  a  changeable  green.  There  was  a  broad 
yellow  ribbon  on  her  bonnet,  and  pink  roses 
inside,  and  a  red  scarf  round  her  neck." 

"  That  will  do,"  said  Mr.  Jasper.  "  I  did  not 
intend  to  call  out  that  sort  of  picture.  I  wanted 
to  see  what  kind  of  attention  you  were  paying  to 
poor  Miss  Sally.  Now,.  Amy  Rothsay  would  have 
picked  out  something  worthy  from  her ;  would 
have  told  me  the  story  Miss  Sally  was  telling." 

"  Oh,  that  is  your  moral," .  exclaimed  Agnes. 
"  There's  always  some  such  thorn  concealed  in 
what  you  say.  Sometimes  I  have  a  very  lively 
talk  with  you,  and  after  I  am  at  home  and  think  it 
over,  I  find  there  was  a  dagger  hidden." 

"  That  is  wrong  of  me,"  said,  Mr.  Jasper.  "  I 
ought  not  to  wound  any  one's  conscience  even,  so 
long  as  it  is  alive." 

"Amy  Rothsay  is  a  bit  of  perfection,"  said  Agnes. 
"  It  is  useless  to  hold  her  up  as  an  example." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  a  bit  of  perfection  ?  " 
asked  Mr.  Jasper. 

"  I  suppose  I  mean  that  there's  a  large  lump  of 
perfection  somewhere,  and  she's  a  bit  broken  off 
from  it,"  said  Agnes. 

"  That  is  not  saying  enough,"  said  Mr.  Jasper. 
"  The  artists,  you  know,  talk  about  a  little  '  bit '  of 
a  landscape,  meaning  a  pretty  piece  of  tree  and 
sky,  that  they  can  take  out  from  the  rest  and  frame 
by  itself.  Now  Amy  is  just  such  a  bit.  She 
would  bear  to  be  put  in  a  frame  by  herself  and 
make  a  complete  picture." 


200  STRUGGLE   FOR   LIFE. 

"  You  go  as  far  in  praising  as  you  do  in  finding 
fault,"  said  Agnes.  "  The  rest  of  us  here  are  not 
worth  framing,  I  suppose." 

"  A  little  piece  of  nature  would  always  be  worth 
that,"  said  Mr.  Jasper. 

"  Now,  I'm  tired  of  talking  that  way,"  said 
Agnes.  "  Won't  you  talk  about  the  weather  ?  It 
has  been  very  entertaining  lately." 

"  Is  there  no  hope  of  my  seeing  Miss  Bertha  this 
week  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Jasper. 

"  I  can't  tell,"  said  Agnes,  "  she  varies  so  much. 
Some  days  she  is  much  better,  and  then  she  is 
worse  again.  I  wish  she  could  have  gone  away. 
We  wanted  to  send  her  with  an  aunt  who  was 
going  to  Havana,  but  Bertha  thought  she  was  not 
strong  enough  to  go." 

"  It  is  your  gain ;  I  hope  it  is  not  her  loss,"  said 
Mr.  Jasper.  "  But  you  can  do  much  to  make  her 
winter  comfortable  and  not  harmful." 

"  I  can't  do  much,"  said  Agnes.  "  It  is  not  my 
way.  I  like  to  do  as  I  feel.  I  can't  keep  my 
strings  stretched  all  the  time." 

"  Your  ^Eolian  harps  that  only  wait  for  the  wind 
are  soon  out  of  tune,"  said  Mr.  Jasper. 

"  I  hope  it  isn't  use  that's  to  keep  me  in  tune," 
said  Agnes.  "  I  know  I  am  jangling  half  the  time." 

"  Do  you  know,"  said  one  of  the  Lees,  after  Mr. 
Jasper  had  left,  "  they  say  Mr.  Jasper  wanted  to 
marry  your  sister  Bertha  when  he  went  away  ?  " 

"  I  never  heard  that,"  said  Agnes. 


THOSE    BOYS.  201 

"  Well,  people  wouldn't  talk  to  you  about  it," 
said  Maria,  "  and  you  were  so  young  then  you 
couldn't  tell." 

"  I  remember,"  said  Agnes,  "  thinking  he  was 
here  a  great  deal.  He  used  to  be  very  lively  and 
full  of  fun." 

"  Mr.  Jasper  don't  object  to  fun  now,"  said 
Maria. 

"  Well,  let  us  go  on  with  what  we  were  about," 
said  Agnes.  "  Mr.  Jasper's  coming  has  quite  put 
it  out  of  my  head." 

"You  were  telling  about  what  Tom  Paxton  said," 
said  one  of  the  Lees. 

"  Oh,  yes ;  how  he  thought  he  could  persuade 
his  mother  to  let  us  have  their  house  for  the  theat 
ricals.  You  know  the  handsome  large  parlors 
would  be  fine." 

"  But  Mrs.  Paxton  would  never  consent  to  hav 
ing  them  upturned." 

"  Oh,  Tom  can  do  what  he  pleases,  you  know," 
said  Agnes. 

"  All  those  things  would  have  to  be  moved  out," 
said  one  of  the  Lees. 

"  And  Mr.  Strange  is  very  sick  too  now,"  said 
another. 

"  You  needn't  raise  objections,"  said  Agnes, 
"  Tom  Paxton  can  arrange  it  all.  He  has  had  the 
furniture  moved  about  in  the  parldr  two  or  three 
times  since  he  came  home.  But  we  must  not  make 
much  talk  about  it,  or  it  can't  be  done." 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 

TWILIGHT. 

MAKGIE  proved  a  very  valuable  reader  to  Bertha. 
She  enjoyed  the  reading  so  much  herself  that  she 
was  never  willing  to  allow  anything  to  interfere 
with  her  afternoons  in  Bertha's  room.  She  had  a 
romantic  admiration  for  Bertha.  It  was  a  pleasure 
merely  to  sit  and  watch  her  motions,  and  a  greater 
pleasure  to  perform  any  service  for  her.  She 
admired  the  exquisite  air  of  everything  in  the 
room,  the  delicate  perfume  of  the  flowers  there, 
the  beautiful  engravings,  too,  of  which  Bertha  had 
much  to  tell  her,  the  absolute  neatness  of  every 
thing,  the  whiteness  of  the  curtains,  and  the  unin 
terrupted  sky  view  that  came  in  at  the  windows. 
And  Bertha  always  chose  for  her  the  pleasantest 
books.  They  were  always  such  inviting  looking 
books,  too,  the  paper  white  and  clean.  She  was 
willing  Margie  should  lead  her  poetry,  and  such 
poetry  that  they  could  talk  about  afterward,  that 
Margie  had  never  read,  and  that  lingered  long  in 
Margie's  mind  with  all  her  other  beautiful  associa 
tions  with  Bertha.  Yet  Bertha  was  not  willing 


TWILIGHT.  203 

that  Margie  should  dwell  upon  these  alone,  though 
she  would  gladly  have  read  nothing  else.  She 
made  her  read  gay,  merry  books,  and  others  that 
were  very  serious. 

"  Oh,  the  winter  afternoons  are  so  short,"  Margie 
exclaimed,  as  she  went  home  one  day ;  "  we  have 
such  a  short  time  in  them  for  reading,  now-a-days." 

Margie  said  this  as  she  went  into  the  parlor  at 
Miss  Elspeth's.  Miss  Elspeth  and  MissJDora  were 
sitting  in  the  twilight  by  the  fire,  with  Bessie  and 
Martha,  only  the  fire  lighting  up  the  room. 

"  But  you  went  this  afternoon  to  the  Carltons  as 
soon  as  dinner  was  done,"  said  Bessie. 

"  Yet  it  became  dark  very  quickly,"  said  Margie, 
"  and  Bertha  actually  sent  me  away.  I  did  not 
like  to  come,  she  looked  so  beautifully.  The  light 
of  the  sunset  came  streaming  into  the  room  over 
her  couch,  and  the  flowers,  and  her  beautiful  face 
too." 

"  Did  you  give  Bertha  your  rose  ?  "  asked  Miss 
Elspeth. 

"  Yes,  but  she  had  such  lovely  flowers  to-day," 
said  Margie.  "  Everybody  sends  her  what  is  most 
exquisite  and  rare.  There  was  one  flower  that  I 
thought  looked  so  much  like  her.  It  was  shaped 
like  the  white  water-lily,  but  instead  of  the  pure 
white  petals,  they  were  pure  blue.  I  can't  tell 
you  the  color  of  the  blue,  —  it  was  like  the  blue  of 
the  sky  when  there  are  a  great  many  white  clouds 
in  it.  Agnes  provoked  me  by  saying  it  was  French 
blue." 


204  STRUGGLE  FOR  LIFE. 

"  The  color  of  forget-me-nots,"  said  Bessie. 

"  But  the  most  beautiful  part  was  the  inside ; 
the  yellow  stamens  were  each  tipped  with  this 
same  delicate  blue,  and  it  was  all  cut  so  beauti 
fully.  I  always  thought  the  white  water-lily  was 
the  most  lovely  flower  in  the  world,  but  this,  oh ! 
this,  was  like  Bertha." 

"  How  you  do  talk,  Margie  ! "  said  Miss  Dora ; 
"your  tongue  starts  when  you  read  to  Bertha 
Carlton,  and  then  you  keep  on." 

"  We  had  a  talk  this  afternoon,"  said  Margie, 
"  about  books,  and  imagination,  and  all  those 
things.  I  said  I  did  not  see  as  there  was  any 
more  harm  in  being  occupied  with  my  own  imagi 
nation,  and  being  taken  up  by  it,  than  in  reading 
stories  that  other  people  have  written." 
"  "  What  did  Bertha  say  ?  "  said  Miss  Elspeth. 

"  She  said  it  was  a  more  selfish  occupation," 
said  Margie,  "  because  other  people  were  inter 
ested,  too,  in  the  books  we  read,  but  that  we 
did  not  share  the  pleasure  we  had  in  our  own 
thoughts.  She  said  she  had  so  many  hours  to  her 
self,  that  there  was  great  danger  she  should  forget 
the  people  round  her,  and  forget  to  sympathize 
with  them,  and  care  what  happened  to  them.  She 
need  never  be  afraid  of  that.  She  shows  more 
interest  in  everybody  than  I  do,  walking  round 
with  them  every  day." 

"  There's  some  sense  in  reading  stories  to  Bertha 
Carlton,"  said  Miss  Dora ;  "  I  don't  see  as  she  can 


TWILIGHT.  205 

do  much  else  now,  and  Margie  does  as  much  work 
as  when  she  was  not  away  three  afternoons  in  a 
week." 

"  It  is  a  great  privilege  for  Margie  to  be  with 
Bertha  Carlton,"  said  Miss  Elspeth. 

"  Are  we  not  going  to  have  the  candles? "  asked 
Miss  Dora. 

"  Oh,  don't  let  us  have  them  yet,"  said  Bessie  ; 
"it  is  so  much  pleasanter  talking  by  this  light. 
Margie  never  talks  so  much.  She  sits  looking  into 
the  coals,  and  forgets  we  are  here.  Do  go  on 
about  Bertha." 

"  I  wish  I  could  draw  and  paint,"  said  Margie  ; 
"  I  could  make  such  a  beautiful  picture  of  Bertha ; 
oh !  I  think  I  could.  Words  always  seem  very 
clumsy  to  say  what  I  want  to,  and  I  do  like  color 
so  much.  She  looks  so  thoughtful  always,  and  not 
joyful,  as  Amy  Rothsay  does." 

"  Did  you  see  Hannah  ?  "  asked  Miss  Dora. 

"  Only  for  a  few  minutes,"  said  Margie  ;  "  I  have 
not  talked  with  her  lately.  She  used  to  sit  in  the 
room  regularly,  but  Mrs.  Carlton  and  Agnes  find 
so  much  for  her  to  do,  it  is  too  bad." 

"  Let  me  take  your  stocking  and  set  the  heel," 
said  Bessie,  seeing  Miss  Dora  troubled  at  an  intri 
cate  part  of  her  knitting." 

"  I  can  see  well  enough,"  said  Miss  Dora,  "  only 
I  think  it's  time  to  have  the  candles.  I  don't 
know  what's  the  matter  with  my  spectacles, — 
they  don't  suit  me  as  well  as  they  used  to." 


206  STRUGGLE  FOR  LIFE. 

"  I'll  get  the  candles,"  said  Martha ;  "  this  talk 
ing  by  firelight  is  very  pleasant,  but  then  there 
are  my  French  exercises." 

"  And,  oh  dear !  I  have  some  work  to  finish 
too,"  said  Bessie. 

At  the  same  hour,  at  the  Rothsays'  house,  Amy 
was  sitting  by  the  firelight,  in  the  parlor.  She 
was  waiting  her  father's  return  from  town.  Mr. 
Jasper  came  in. 

"  I  have  been  in  to  talk  with  Mrs.  Campbell,"  he 
said,  "  and  now  I  want  to  have  a  little  talk  with 
you." 

He  drew  a  comfortable  chair  to  the  fireside,  and 
sat  awhile,  thinking.  "  I  want  to  ask  you  to  do 
something  for  me,"  said  he,  at  last ;  "  I  want  very 
much  to  see  Bertha.  Will  you  ask  her  if  she  will 
see  me  ?  " 

"  I  think  she  will  be  glad  to,"  said  Amy ;  "  some 
days  she  seems  very  well,  and  I  think  nothing  is 
better  for  her  than  to  see  her  friends." 

"  I  have  spoken  to  Agnes  about  it,  but  I  had 
rather  you  would  ask  Bertha,"  said  Mr.  Jasper; 
"  I  think  she  may  not  wish  it." 

"  But  she  has  seen  a  great  many  of  her  friends," 
said  Amy ;  "  Annie  Lane  came  the  other  day  pur 
posely  to  see  her,  and  papa  has  seen  her  once  or 
twice,  and  Frank." 

"  Do  you  remember  that  spring  when  Bertha 
was  first  ill  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Jasper. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Amy,  •'  and  the  violent  attack 


TWILIGHT.  207 

upon  her  lungs.  She  told  me  about  it  herself. 
I  never  shall  forget  that  time,  —  it  came  upon 
me  with  a  shock.  She  told  me  all  the  doctor 
said." 

"  She  was  better  a  little  while  after,"  said  Mr. 
Jasper.  . 

"  Yes,  very  much  better,"  said  Amy,  "  and  I  felt 
very  much  encouraged,  and  tried  to  forget  it 
all,  —  to  forget  that  the  doctor  had  said  she  might 
never  be  well.  And  we  had  together  some  pleas 
ant  spring  drives,  and  some  walks  too." 

"  And  do  you  remember,"  said  Mr.  Jasper,  "the 
place  we  used  to  walk  to,  not  far  away,  on  the  bank 
of  the  stream,  where  there  is  a  willow  that  bends 
over  and  dips  into  the  water  ?  " 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  said  Amy ;  "  it  is  beautiful  still 
just  where  the  stream  winds  round  the  point." 

"  I  have  never  been  there  since  that  time,"  said 
Mr.  Jasper.  "  I  went  one  warm  spring  day,  Ber 
tha  thought  she  could  walk  as  far.  We  found  the 
first  anemones  that  day.  Frank,  your  brother 
Frank,  said  he  would  meet  us  at  the  turn  of  the 
road,  and  would  drive  Bertha  home.  So  we  kept 
on  as  far  as  the  stream.  It  was  there,  beneath 
the  willow,  that  I  told  Bertha  what  she  knew 
before,  that  I  loved  her,  that  I  wanted  her  to 
marry  me." 

"  And  Bertha  ?  "  asked  Amy. 

"  She  could  not  marry  me,"  said  Mr.  Jasper. 

"  She  thought  she  should  not  live  long, — was  it 


208  STRUGGLE   FOR   LIFE. 

so  ?  "  said  Amy,  after  a  pause.  "  I  remember  we 
talked  of  that  often,  or  rather  it  was  Bertha  who 
talked  to  me  of  it.  She  was  told  she  might  live  a 
few  years  longer,  with  great  care,  but  that  perhaps 
she  might  not  live  the  summer  through.  I  could 
not  bear  to  think  of  it,  scarcely  to  hear  her  speak 
of  it.  But  I  know  it  was  in  her  mind  constantly, 
and  that  she  was  quietly  preparing  herself  for  it." 

Mr.  Jasper  walked  up  and  down  the  room,  and 
said  at  last,  "  I  would  not  like  to  give  her  pain.  I 
would  not  like  to  excite  her  with  thoughts  that 
would  harass  her.  If,  indeed,  she  has  her  face 
fixed  toward  heaven,  I  would  not  like  to  call  her 
back  again  to  earth.  And  yet,  I  long  to  see  her. 
No  weary  prisoner  ever  longed  to  see  the  light 
again  as  I  have  longed  to  see  Bertha's  face  once 
more.  It  used  to  give  me  strength  and  hopeful 
ness,  and  when  it  was  shut  out  from  me,  it  left  me 
dispirited,  in  the  dark.  God  forgive  me  if  it  is  a 
selfish  wish,  —  if  I  forget  what  she  may  suffer  in 
thinking  of  all  that  I  shall  gain  in  seeing  her 
once  more." 

"  Bertha  will  tell  me  truly,"  said  Amy,  after  a 
while ;  "  if  she  thinks  it  is  beyond  her  strength, 
she  will  tell  me  so.  But  I  do  not  think  she  is  so 
easily  excited  as  I  have  sometimes  feared  she 
would  be.  One  great  thought  fills  her  mind,  and 
everything  else  is  swayed  by  that.  Oh,  I  would 
like  to  have  yo'u  see  her.  I.  know  it  would  bring 
you  peace." 


TWILIGHT.  209 

"  More  than  five  years  I  have  been  away  from 
her,"  said  Mr.  Jasper,  "  and  yet  her  image  has 
been  closely  near  me.  I  have  almost  fancied  every 
day  it  might  be  her  spirit,  and  that  I  should  hear 
it  had  been  freed,  and  so  was  able  to  come  and 
keep  me  from  being  alone." 

Mr.  Jasper  bade  Amy  good-night  suddenly,  and 
went  away.  Amy  sank  back  again  into  thought. 
"  Then  Mr.  Jasper  banished  himself  from  here," 
she  thought,  "  and  these  last  few  years  have  made 
a  separation  between  him  and  Bertha.  How  little 
while  it  seems  since  they  were  both  here,  and 
in  this  very  room  George  sat  too.  How  much 
more  hopeful  is  my  separation  from  him,  —  more 
hopeful  as  far  as  this  world  is  concerned.  And 
did  Bertha  love  Mr.  Jasper?  He  influenced  her 
most  powerfully, — that  she  has  often  acknowledged 
to  me  ;  and  I  know  that  with  her  it  would  be  pos 
sible  to  keep  such  a  love  quite  hidden  in  her 
heart.  But  yet,  would  she  let  him  go  awa}r  from 
her  ?  What  reason  could  she  have  that  would  be 
powerful  enough?  And  how  much  she  must  have 
suffered  if  it  were  so  !  She  is  far  more  heavenly 
minded  than  I  am.  I  am  thinking  so  intently  of 
my  future  happiness  here,  and  she  has  built  hers 
in  another  world." 

It  was  not  often  that  Amy  was  allowed  the  quiet 
time  for  a  reverie  by  the  fireside,  and  now  her 
thoughts  were  interrupted.     The  little  Campbells 
broke  into  the  room. 
14 


210  STRUGGLE   FOR  LIFE. 

"  Cousin  Amy,  Katie  has  let  us  have  tea  in  the 

kitchen,  it  was  so  late." 

•'  And  what  do  you  think  we  had  for  supper  ?  " 
"  May  we  sit  in  your  lap  and  tell  you.  all  we 

had  for  supper  ?  " 


CHAPTER    XXV. 

BERTHA'S  ROOM. 


THE  first  snow  came  and  fell  heavily  on  the 
ground.  It  interrupted  the  labors  of  the  boys; 
and  Mrs.  Carlton  expressed  loudly  her  pleasure  at 
this,  as  the  very  day  before  she  had  been  thrown 
into  alarm  by  an  accident  that  befell  Harry.  Ar 
thur  came  hurrying  into  the  house,  crying  out  for 
somebody's  help,  saying  that  Harry  was  lost  in  the 
swamp.  Hannah  was  the  first  to  hasten  to  the 
scene  of  trouble.  She  went  out  through  the  yard 
and  the  meadow,  behind  the  house,  to  the  skirt  of 
the  wood,  along  which  a  broad  space  of  swampy 
ground  stretched.  It  was  here  the  boys  were 
working  upon  their  bridge.  Harry  had  been 
amusing  himself  in  a  favorite  sport  of  jumping 
from  one  little  tuft  of  grass  to  another,  till  he  had 
lost  his  footing,  and  suddenly  cried  out  to  the  boys 
that  he  was  sinking  in  the  mud.  Hannah  found 
that  Jack  had  gone  to  rescue  him,  but  was  in 
trouble  himself.  He  had  lost  his  own  boot  in  his 
efforts,  and  seemed  uncertain  whether  to  devote 
himself  to  rescuing  that  or  Harry.  Tom  was  try- 


212  STRUGGLE   FOR   LIFE. 

ing  to  encourage  Harry,  who  was  screaming 
loudly.  Hannah  looked  round  to  see  how  she 
might  bo  of  service.  She  brought  from  the  wood 
a  strong  branch  of  a  tree,  and  at  length,  with  Tom 
and  Jack's  help,  she  succeeded  in  drawing  Harry 
out  of  his  perilous  position.  He  was  wet  through, 
however,  and  shivering  with  cold.  By  the  time 
that  they  were  turned  back  towards  the  house 
they  met  a  party  of  men,  whom  Arthur's  entreaties 
and  representations  had  brought  down  to  Harry's 
help.  Mrs.  Carlton  was  at  the  door  to  receive 
them. 

"  I  expected  no  more  than  this,"  she  exclaimed. 
"  I  only  wonder  it  has  not  happened  before.  Harry 
will  be  sick  a  week  after  it,  and  that  suit  of  clothes 
is  entirely  ruined.  Tom  and  Jack  are  not  fit  to 
be  trusted  with  the  care  of  Harry." 

"  There  wasn't  anything  the  matter  to  make 
such  a  fuss  about,"  said  Tom.  "  "We  should  have 
got  Harry  out  in  time,  only  Arthur  is  always 
frightened  the  first  thing.  He  wants  to  run  into 
the  house  if  a  leaf  rustles." 

"And  where's  Jack?"  said  Mrs.  Carlton.  "In 
more  mischief?  " 

"  He's  fishing  out  his  boot,"  said  Tom.  "  One 
of  the  men  is  helping  him." 

"  Tell  him  to  come  directly  into  the  house,"  said 
Mrs.  Carlton.  "  I  am  going  to  speak  to  Mr.  Carl- 
ton  to-day  and  tell  him  to  put  an  end  to  all  this 
working  in  the  swamp.  It  ruins  the  carpets,  all 


BEBTHA'S  ROOM.  213 

the  mud  that  is  brought  into  the  house  !  It  might 
have  been  the  death  of  Harry,  and  it's  impossible 
to  keep  his  clothes  decent,  or  any  of  you  fit  to  be 
seen." 

The  snow  came  to  assist  Mrs.  Carlton  in  her 
determination.  It  began  to  fall  towards  night,  and 
the  next  morning  lay  thickly  piled  upon  the 
ground.  The  boys  were  up  as  early  as  Hannah, 
full  of  excitement. 

"  We  are  going  to  help  you  this  morning,"  they 
exclaimed.  "  We'll  clear  your  steps  for  you. 
Fred  is  going  to  find  our  snow  shovels ;  he  knows 
where  they  are." 

Harry,  too,  was  eager  to  bear  his  part,  and 
begged  the  kitchen  shovel  of  Bridget. 

Agnes  groaned  that  the  snow  should  make  the 
walking  so  bad,  and  hoped  Tom  Paxton  would  get 
up  a  sleigh-ride.  She  went  into  Bertha's  room  for 
consolation. 

"  I  declare,  you  look  cosy  here,"  she  exclaimed. 
"  Your  little  crackling  fire  sounds  comfortably. 
And  how  pretty  the  snow-wreaths  round  the  win 
dow  are.  You  always  man  ige  to  mike  the  cham 
ber  bright  and  cheerful." 

"  Hannah,  here,  does  it  all,"  said  Bertha.  "  Sho 
knows  how  to  give  a  '  touch '  to  a  room." 

"  I  wish  she  would  give  a  touch  to  mine  a  little 
oftener,"  said  Agnes.  "  And  before  you  begin 
dusting  the  shelves,  Hannah,  suppose  you  take 
those  books  out  of  the  easy  chair  and  draw  it  up 


214  STRUGGLE   FOB   LIFE. 

to  the  fire.  I  may  as  well  sit  comfortably  while  I 
am  here.  I  have  not  told  you  about  the  party  at 
the  Fays'  last  night,  Bertha." 

"  Was  everybody  there?"  asked  Bertha. 

"  Almost  everybody.  We  had  rather  a  slow 
time,  on  the  whole,"  said  Agnes.  "  I  had  a  long 
talk  with  Mr.  Jasper,  as  usual.  They  tried  to  get 
up  a  dance,  but  it  did  not  succeed  very  well." 

u  I  suppose  Amy  went?  "  said  Bertha. 

"  Yes,  Amy  was  there.  She  wore  her  new 
dress,"  said  Agnes.  "  They  say  it's  quite  certain 
George  Arnold  comes  home  in  the  spring,  and  I 
suppose  Amy  will  be  married  then.  Does  she 
ever  talk  to  you  about  it?  " 

"  Not  much,"  said  Bertha.  "  I  think  Amy  feels 
very  happily  about  it.  She  thinks  it  is  best  for 
George  to  be  away." 

"  I  think  it  is  quite  useless  to  be  so  virtuous," 
said  Agnes.  "It  would  have  been  a  great  deal 
pleasanter  to  have  had  George  Arnold  here,  among 
us  all.  He  was  before  my  time,  but  I  remember 
those  funny  sketches  he  used  to  draw.  I  don't 
believe  there's  anybody  half  so  entertaining  now. 
Frank  Rothsay  has  grown  stiff,  and  studies  so 
hard,  one  can't  get  a  word  out  of  him." 

"  I  thought  Frank  seemed  as  full  of  fnn  as  ever, 
when  I  saw  him  the  other  day,"  said  Bertha. 

"  He  can  be  as  amusing  as  anybody,"  said  Ag 
nes.  "  Now,  Thanksgiving  night  it  was  a  perfect 
refreshment  to  have  him  come  in  here.  That,  to 


BERTHA'S  ROOM.  215 

be  sure,  was  by  way  of  contrast,  after  the  stupid 
time  we  had  been  having.  It  is  the  stupidest  day 
in  the  whole  year,  one  grows  so  tired  of  one's 
relations." 

"  That's  ungrateful,  when  you  are  the  favorite 
of  the  family,"  said  Bertha. 

"  Oh,  well,  I  like  them  all  separately,  but  they 
are  tiresome  to  take  them  in  a  lump,  and  all  day 
long  too  !  I'm  afraid  our  plan  of  theatricals  is  to 
fall  through ! " 

"  You  were  very  sanguine  about  it  yesterday," 
said  Bertha. 

"  I  know  it,"  said  Bertha,  "  but  last  night  Tom 
Paxton  told  me  he  was  afraid  he  should  not  bring 
his  mother  to  consent  to  it.  He  has  been  talking 
to  her  about  it." 

"  I  don't  wonder,"  said  Bertha,  "  that  she  should 
be  unwilling  to  have  them  in  her  house,  when  she 
is  feeling  so  anxiously  about  Mrs.  Strange." 

"  She  don't  feel  anxious  enough  to  care  to  go 
abroad  and  see  her,"  replied  Agnes.  "  She  might  at 
least  consent  to  have  a  little  fun  going  on.  The 
Lees  thought  they  might  have  them  in  their  house, 
though  Mrs.  Lee  don't  like  the  trouble.  And  Tom 
Paxton  says  he  don't  care  to  have  them  if  they  are 
not  at  his  house  and  if  I  don't  take  a  part." 

"Have  you  decided  not  to  take  a  part?"  said 
Bertha,  surprised. 

"  I  never  meant  to,"  said  Agnes,  "  though  I  did 
not  say  much  about  it  for  fear  they  would  give  it 


216  STRUGGLE   FOR  LIFE. 

up,  and  I  like  the  amusement  of  getting  them  up. 
But  do  think  what  a  world  of  trouble  it  would  be  ! 
How  many  pages  I  should  have  to  learn !  It 
would  be  as  bad  as  school-days,  because  I  did  not 
care  if  I  missed  then  ;  now,  it  would  be  rather  dis 
agreeable  to  forget  one's  part  before  all  Langdale." 

"  You  are  consistent,"  said  Bertha,  laughing. 
"  You  are  not  willing  to  put  yourself  out,  or  take 
any  trouble  about  the  theatricals,  even." 

"  I  meant  to  put  all  the  trouble  off  on  the  other 
girls,"  said  Agnes.  "  They  were  to  make  the  cur 
tains  and  the  dresses  and  all  that." 

"  It  is  a  habit  you  have,"  said  Bertha.  "  If  you 
had  been  willing  to  work  in  the  school-days,  it 
would  not  come  hard  to  work  now." 

"  But  where's  the  use,"  said  Agnes,  beginning  to 
walk  up  and  down  the  room ;  "  lately  I  have  had  a 
great  many  talks  with  Mr.  Jasper.  I  talk  to  him 
just  as  I  do  to  other  people,  whatever  happens  to 
come  uppermost ;  and  I  do  believe  he  likes  it.  I 
think  he  is  interested  in  talking  to  me.  Yet  he  is 
always  stumbling  against  some  one  or  other  of  my 
faults,  and  showing  it  off  to  me.  I  wish  there  was 
such  a  thing  as  being  liked  in  spite  of  one's  faults." 

"  Oh,  there  is,"  said  Bertha ;  "  nobody  is  perfect, 
and  so  we  love  our  friends,  whatever  their  faults 
are ;  the  more  deeply,  the  more  anxious  their 
faults  make  us." 

"  That  is  not  what  I  mean,"  said  Agnes,  im 
patiently  ;  "  angelic  people  can  do  all  that.  I  sup- 


BERTHA'S  ROOM.  217 

pose  patience  is  one  of  their  virtues.  I  don't 
know  anything  about  that.  I  never  was  patient. 
But  I  was  thinking  about  Mr.  Jasper.  I  tell  you  I 
think  he  likes  me.  But  I  do  shock  him  very  often, 
and  I  know  my  faults  stand  in  the  way  of  his 
liking  me  any  better.  He  would  like  to  do  me 
some  good ;  that  is  his  vocation,  and  he  likes  me 
out  of  the  hope  he  has  that  I  shall  be  better  some 
day.  I  don't  care  for  that.  I  want  to  be  liked  all 
for  myself,  because  I  am  what  I  am  and  no  other. 
I  want  to  be  loved  with  all  my  faults  heaped  on 
me!" 

"  There  is  only  one  friend  loves  that  way ;  only 
one,"  said  Bertha,  seriously. 

Agnes  turned  and  looked  at  Bertha,  whose  eyes 
were  fixed  upon  the  clear  view  that  stretched 
beyond  the  window. 

"  You  can  say  that,"  said  Agnes,  "  because  you 
have  left  all  earthly  feelings  behind.  You  are 
more  spiritual  than  I.  I  cannot  understand  what 
you  mean." 

A  deep  color  came  into  Bertha's  cheeks.  "  It 
shows  how  little  you  know  me,"  she  said,  "  to  say 
that  of  me.  I  needed  this  long  quiet  preparation 
for  the  new  home  that  waits  me  ;  I  needed  it,  be 
cause  I  was  so  cumbered  with  the  weight  of  many 
things  here.  God  gives  us  the  discipline  we  need. 
He  will  give  you  the  friend  you  ask,  or  be  to  you 
the  better  friend  himself." 

"  I  ought  often  to  ask  you  to  speak  to  me  this 


218  STRUGGLE   FOB  LIFE. 

way,"  said  Agnes.  "  You  look  inspired  just  now, 
Bertha,  like  some  pre-Raphaelite  picture,  as  Mr. 
Jasper  would  say." 

"  He  never  spoke  so  of  me/'  said  Bertha,  quickly. 

"  Oh  no ;  he  speaks  seldom  of  you/'  said  Agnes. 
'  When  he  does,  it  is  with  a  sort  of  reverence.  I 
have  never  told  you  that  he  wants  to  see  you  some 
day,—  some  day  when  you  feel  really  well." 

"  He  would  like  to  see  me/'  repeated  Bertha. 
"  Are  you  very  sure  that  he  wanted  to  see  me. 
Perhaps  he  suggested  it  from  kindness." 

"  Oh  no ;  I  think  he  was  quite  earnest  about  it," 
said  Agnes. 

"  You  should  have  told  me  some  of  those  days 
that  I  was  down  stairs,"  said  Bertha.  ''  Now  the 
winter  is  come,  I  may  not  go  down  again.  Don't 
give  him  an  answer  yet.  I  must  think  about  it. 
If  I  feel  strong  enough  I  should  like  to  see  Mr. 
Jasper  again." 

"  Oh  well,  don't  trouble  yourself  about  it,"  said 
Agnes.  "  Perhaps  I  shan't  see  him  to-day.  I 
have  half  a  mind  to  go  into  town  this  morning. 
If  I  can  only  reach  the  station  through  the  snow,  I 
shall  find  the  sidewalks  cleared  in  town." 

"  What  would  you  do  there?"  asked  Bertha. 

"  Oh,  a  world  of  things,  beginning  with  noth 
ing,"  said  Agnes.  "  If  we  are  to  give  up  the  the 
atricals,  I  must  put  something  else  into  my  head  to 
think  about." 

Bertha  leaped  back  upon  her  cushions  as  Agnes 


BERTHA'S  KOOM.  219 

wont  away.  Hannah  was  still  in  the  room.  Mrs. 
Carlton  had  given  her  some  sewing  to  occupy  her 
there  through  the  morning.  Hannah  thought  Ber 
tha  looked  tired  by  her  talk  with  Agnes.  She 
closed  her  eyes,  but  the  lids  were  pained  and  dis 
turbed.  Later  in  the  day  Hannah  was  in  the  room 
again. 

"  I  wanted  to  speak  to  you,"  she  said  to  Bertha, 
"  about  what  Miss  Agnes  said  this  morning.  You 
looked  tired  after  she  went  out,  and  I  thought  I 
would  not  say  more  then,  but  oh,  I  do  wish  people 
would  not  trouble  us  so  with  our  faults." 

"  Very  often,'1  said  Bertha,  smiling,  u  our  friends, 
our  elder  friends,  may  say  too  much  about  them. 
They  ought  to  consider  to  whom  they  are  speak 
ing.  Some  people  are  already  very  sensitive  to 
their  faults.  But  Mr.  Jasper,  perhaps,  thinks  that 
Agnes  does  not  think  often  enough  of  hers." 

"  I  was  not  thinking  of  Miss  Agnes,"  said  Han 
nah.  "  I  was  thinking  of  myself.  I  work  so  much 
easier  when  people  are  encouraging  and  tell  me 
often  that  I  am  right,  than  when  they  find  out  all  I 
have  done  wrong.  You  never  talk  to  me  about 
my  faults,  nor  Miss  Amy.  and  yet  I  know  very  well 
when  I  don't  do  your  work  right ;  but  you  always 
see  whatever  I  do  that  is  good." 

"  Poor  Hannah,"  said  Bertha,  "  I  am  afraid  you 
hear  too  much  fault-finding  in  the  house !  The 
boys  are  very  thoughtless  and  careless.  I  have 


STKUGGLE   FOIl  LIFE. 

spoken  to  Fred  about  it  some  times.     I  think  you 
are  very  patient  with  them." 

"  I  am  beginning  to  be  used  to  the  boys,"  said 
Hannah,  "  and  they  are  so  merry  always.  I  wish 
I  could  please  Miss  Agnes  and  Mrs.  Carlton 
oftener."  >> 


CHAPTER     XXVI. 

CONTEST   AND   PEACE. 

THE  winter  passed  on.  The  new  year  had  come. 
The  constant  snow  had  made  it  very  gay  in  Lang- 
dale.  There  had  been  a  succession  of  sleighing 
parties  and  other  entertainments.  The  boys  were 
especially  happy,  particularly  when  Agnes  and  all 
her  friends  had  patronized  the  skating  on  wthe 
meadow.  Fred,  and  Tom,  and  Jack  were  devoted 
in  their  gallantry  to  Agnes,  the  Lees,  and  the 
Fays.  The  private  theatricals  had  taken  place, 
after  all,  at  the  Lees'.  Agnes  had  made  all  the 
others  work  in  the  arrangements  for  them,  while 
she  sat  by,  without  taking  to  herself  any  share  of 
the  trouble.  She  only  offered  her  taste,  and  gave 
the  rest  her  suggestions.  She  ridiculed  all  the 
plays  they  proposed  acting,  and  finally  selected 
one  herself.  All  the  parts  were  given  out  under 
her  dictation,  and  at  the  last  she  took  one  of  the 
minor  parts  herself,  where  she  did  not  have  to  say 
many  words,  but  made  a  brilliant  appearance. 

"  It  was  the  best  part  of  the  whole  play,"  Torn 
Paxton  declared  afterward  to  Agnes. 


222  STEUGGLE   FOR   LIFE. 

"  Oh,  I  didn't  want  to  take  any  other,"  said 
Agnes ;  "  I  don't  care  about  personating  one  of 
your  slow  heroines.  Indeed,  I  think  the  whole 
thing  is  a  humbug.  I  had  rather  go  into  the 
Boston  Theatre,  any  night." 

Agnes  was  a  favorite  on  these  occasions,  though 
she  always  threw  all  labor  and  responsibility  away 
from  herself.  She  was  a  favorite,  because  she  was 
never  out  of  spirits.  She  was  very  fastidious  and 
selfish  in  taking  to  herself  whatever  she  fancied, 
but  the  Lees  and  the  others  admired  her  exceed 
ingly,  and  were  willing  to  submit  to  all  her  whims. 

"  Do  you  observe,"  said  Fred  to  Tom,  "  that  at 
whatever  angle  Agnes  tips  her  bonnet  on  the  back 
of  her  head,  the  Lees  have  an  exact  measurement 
of  it,  and  wear  theirs  in  precisely  the  same  slant?" 

"  Do  you  observe,"  retorted  Agnes,  "  that  in 
whatever  slang  Fred  indulges  himself,  it  is  copied 
exactly  by  his  train  of  Tom  and  Jack,  to  say  noth 
ing  of  Dick  and  Harry?  If  he  would  only  set  a 
respectable  example.  But  his  talk  is  enough  to 
kill  one!" 

"Why  is  Fred  like  David?"  says  Jack.  "  Give  it 
up?  Because  one  kills  with  his  slang,  and  the 
other  with  his  sling." 

"  Jack,  you  grow  worse  and  worse  every  day," 
exclaimed  Agnes ;  "  I  wish  the  institutior  of  put 
ting  boys  in  barrels  prevailed." 

"  Ho  !  we  are  so  useful  you  would  have  to  take 
us  out  every  day,"  said  Tom. 


CONTEST   AND   PEACE.  223 

"  Who  would  you  send  on  your  errands?"  said 
Jack. 

"Who  would  bring  you  out  of  town  after  dark?" 
said  Fred. 

"  Who  would  carry  your  bundles,"  said  Tom. 

"  Who  would  you  scold  round  generally  ?  "  said 
Jack. 

"  And  what  a  fermentation  there'd  be  in  the  bar 
rels,"  said  Tom. 

Agnes  came  home  from  the  post-office  one  day. 
"  Here's  a  letter  for  Hannah,"  she  exclaimed,  as 
she  entered  the  house.  "  Hannah  has  a  corre 
spondent.  Where  is  Hannah  ?  Such  beautiful 
writing  on  the  letter  !  Your  friend,  Hannah,  is  so 
clear  about  his  or  her  spelling.  '  Care  of  Mrs. 
Jon  Carlton.'  That's  the  new  phonographic  style. 
I  think  I  will  take  lessons,  it  must  save  trouble." 

Hannah  took  her  letter,  wondering  who  could 
write  to  her.  It  was  from  Janet,  who  wrote  to 
tell  of  her  happy  life  in  New  York.  Janet  had 
not  so  much  command  of  her  pen  as  her  tongue, 
and  she  was  not  able  to  fill  quite  one  page,  but 
she  wanted  to  assure  Hannah  that  she  had  not 
forgotten  her. 

"  How  I  should  like  to  see  the  inside  of  that 
letter,"  said  Agnes,  waiting  till  Hannah  should 
finish  reading  it ;  "  if  it  equals  its  appearance  out 
side,  it  must  be  a  treasure.  I  hope  your  friend 
writes  often." 

"  You  never  had  the  patience  to  write  a  whole 


224  STRUGGLE   FOR   LIFE. 

letter,"  said  Fred,  who  overheard  what  Agnes  was 
saying ;  "  if  you  did,  nobody  would  have  the  pa 
tience  to  read  it.  Why  can't  you  let  Hannah  read 
her  letter  in  peace?" 

"  I  expecte,d  some  thanks  for  bringing  it  all  the 
way  from  the  post-office,"  said  Agnes. 

Hannah  had  lately  thrust  Janet  out  of  her  mind. 
She  was  beginning  to  grow  ashamed  of  her  inter 
course  with  her,  and  of  the  influence  which  Janet 
had  really  possessed  over  her.  She  was  hoping 
she  .should  not  hear  from  her  again,  and  she  did 
not  welcome  a  letter  that  brought  up  the  subject 
once  more.  Agnes's  ridicule  roused  in  her  a  spirit 
of  defiance. 

"  Just  because  a  poor  girl  has  never  been  taught 
better,  Miss  Agnes,"  she  said,  "  you  think  you  can 
laugh  at  her.  If  my  friend,  as  you  call  her,  could 
have  gone  to  school  five  years,  as  some  others 
have,  she  might  be  more  useful  than  they  are." 

Agnes  was  going  away,  but  she  turned  back. 
"  I  did  not  mean  to  be  insulting,  Hannah,"  she 
said ;  "  I  dare  say  your  friend  is  very  useful,  but 
from  her  handwriting,  I  should  not  call  her  orna 
mental." 

When  some  warm,  clear  days  came  again,  Ber 
tha  ventured  to  go  down  stairs  once  more.  Her 
father  stayed  out  of  town  in  the  morning  to  carry 
her  down  into  the  comfortable  parlor.  There  she 
was  very  glad  to  lie  on  the  cushioned  sofa,  by  the 
glowing  fire,  with  her  flowers  and  books  by  her 


CONTEST   AND   PEACE.  225 

side,  and  where  her  friends  might  come  in  to  talk 
to  her. 

One  morning,  after  she  had  been  established  in 
this  way,  Bertha  was  left  alone  for  awhile.  She 
heard  presently  the  front  door  opened,  and  then 
Mr.  Jasper  entered  the  room. 

"  Bertha,  you  are  here,"  he  exclaimed  ;  "  I  met 
Agnes,  who  asked  me  to  come  in  to  see  you,  but  I 
did  not  think  to  find  you  in  this  room,  to  come  in 
upon  you  so  suddenly." 

"  I  thought  you  would  come  to-day,"  said  Ber 
tha.  "  When  I  heard  some  one  at  the  door,  I 
believed  that  it  was  you.  It  did  not  surprise  me." 

"  So  like  the  Bertha  from  whom  I  parted,"  said 
Mr.  Jasper ;  "  to  stand  in  front  of  you,  to  look 
down  upon  you,  makes  all  the  years  that  have 
passed  between,  dwindle  away.  Was  it  only  yes 
terday,  Bertha?  What  has  become  of  all  that  long 
time  !  Only  once  have  I  felt  sorrow  in  your  pres 
ence.  It  has  always  been  to  me  light  and  joy. 
That  one  time  was  when  I  knew  I  must  leave 
you." 

The  color  came  into  Bertha's  cheeks.  She  half 
raised  herself.  "  It  seems,  indeed,  so  natural  to 
see  you  here,  it  could  hardly  give  me  a  shock  of 
surprise.  I  am  glad  to  see  you  once  more.  I 
have  so  often  thought  over  what  I  would  say  to 
you."  She  paused  a  moment,  and  then  went  on. 
"  I  have  been  thinking  that  I  was  wrong  in  what  I 
said  to  you  that  last  time  I  saw  you.  So  many 
15 


226  STRUGGLE   FOB  LIFE. 

times  my  strength  of  heart  has  failed  since  then. 
A  great  many  times  I  have  repeated  to  myself  that 
I  was  wrong  in  shutting  out  so  great  a  happiness. 
I  told  you  that  it  was  a  great  happiness." 

"0  Bertha,  how  could  you  send  me  away?" 
interrupted  Mr.  Jasper. 

"  There  were  so  many  who  needed  you,"  said 
Bertha.  "  You  were  strong,  you  had  a  great  work 
before  you,  —  you  were  to  work  for  the  world. 
And  I,  I  was  so  weak,  I  should  have  kept  you 
back.  Do  not  turn  away,  nor  look  so  doubtfully. 
If  I  did  wrong,  I  have  suffered.  But  I  could  not 
bear  to  tie  you  down  to  me,  when  I  thought  I 
might  live  on  as  I  have  done.  More  than  five 
years  I  have  been  a  care  to  those  around  me.  I 
have  been  very  dependent.  Those  who  loved  me 
most  have  suffered  most  for  me." 

"  Oh,  you  are  wrong,  Bertha,"  said  Mr.  Jasper ; 
"  do  you  forget  that  we  love  you  ?  Is  any  care 
heavy  that  we  take  for  those  we  love  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  excusing  myself,"  said  Bertha,  "  yet 
I  would  like  to  have  you  clearly  know  how,  in 
what  I  did,  I  meant  to  have  helped  }*ou.  Oh  !  we 
are  all  so  weak ;  when  we  would  help  each  other, 
the  most  we  have  is  so  little  to  offer." 

"Forgive  me,  Bertha,"  said  Mr.  Jasper;  "how 
cruel  I  am  to  come  to  trouble  you  so.  But  you 
are  so  unchanged,  so  like  the  Bertha  I  left  behind, 
1  cannot  think  of  you  as  ill  and  suffering.  How 
thoughtless  I  am  to  add  anything  to  all  you  have 
to  bear." 


CONTEST   AND    PEACE.  227 

"  Do  not  think  of  that,"  said  Bertha ;  "  I  have 
wished  you  should  have  a  better  opinion  of  me. 
When  you  left  me,  you  thought  or  attempted  to 
think  that  I  was  cold  and  without  feeling.  I  tried 
to  hope  you  might  think  so.  It  would  make  the 
parting  easier  for  you  to  believe  me  less  worthy." 

"  One  hour  away  from  you,"  said  Mr.  Jasper, 
"  and  all  such  idle  suspicions,  anything  that  could 
cloud  my  trust  in  you,  vanished." 

Bertha  went  on,  —  "When  I  was  told  that  my 
days  were  numbered,  —  that  for  the  life  that  had 
grown  so  precious  to  me,  the  end  was  already 
appointed,  —  I  was  stupefied  with  a  deep  sorrow. 
I  loved  everything  in  the  world.  I  wanted  to  be 
everything  for  everybody.  I  thought  that  I  would 
make  Agnes  love  me  dearly ;  that  I  would  watch 
over  her,  would  check  the  faults  in  her  that  had 
grown  in  me  like  rude  weeds.  I  thought  I  could 
see  the  source  of  my  own  faults,  but  she  was  so 
much  younger  I  would  work  for  her,  so  that  when 
she  grew  up  she  should  not  have  such  faults  in 
herself  to  contend  with.  I  thought  I  would  be 
the  dear  elder  sister  of  the  boys,  the  softener  of 
all  that  was  rough  in  them." 

"  All  this  you  were,  all  this  you  have  been," 
interrupted  Mr.  Jasper,  "and "why  would  you  not 
bless  me  also  ?  " 

"  That  would  have  been  the  most  glorious  joy  of 
all,"  said  Bertha;  "  to  live  for  others,  —  to  live  for 
you,  —  it  was  a  happiness,  indeed,  too  great  for 


228  STRUGGLE   FOR  LIFE. 

me.  Then  came  the  sudden  shock,  when  my 
strength  was  suddenly  cut  down.  A  new  way  was 
appointed  for  me.  Instead  of  laboring  for  others, 
I  was  to  suffer,  and  they  were  to  labor  for  me. 
Oh !  every  way  I  looked  upon  it,  to  try  to  bring 
ray  heart  into  a  willing  state.  I  wished  I  could 
have  a  little  time,  a  little  longer  time,  and  stretched 
my  arms  back  into  life  imploringly.  And  then  it 
was  I  made  the  great  mistake.  I  wanted  to  suffer 
alone.  I  wanted  to  put  upon  myself  the  whole 
weight  of  my  trial.  I  tried  to  persuade  myself 
that  I  had  mistaken  your  feeling  towards  me ;  that 
it  was  not  so  deep  as  I  had  fancied, —  that  you 
might  be  easily  weaned  from  me.  I  taught  myself 
that  if  I  were  only  firm  enough,  I  could  shut  my 
self  out  from  you ;  that  you  would  soon  have 
higher  aims,  that  would  take  the  place  of  the 
lower  love  you  felt  for  me.  I  thought  that  I 
alone  should  suffer  in  the  separation.  "With  you, 
it  would  be  a  momentary  pang  of  deep  sorrow,  a 
sad  remembrance,  perhaps,  while  you  would  be 
left  free.  On  the  other  hand,  I  shrank  from  bind 
ing  you  down  to  one  whose  strength  and  life  were 
failing  as  mine  were.  The  longer  that  I  should 
live  here,  —  the  longer  that  I  should  linger  weak 
and  suffering,  —  the  closer  I  should  bind  you  to 
my  side,  and  keep  you  away  from  other  duties.  I 
wanted  you  to  be  great  for  the  world ;  not  to  give 
your  life  to  one  weak  invalid,  and  I  that  one.  I 
had  a  false  idea  of  duty,  that  made  me  believe  if 


CONTEST   AND   PEACE.  229 

the  duty  were  a  hard  one  for  me,  it  must  be  right. 
I  thought  as  long  as  I  suffered,  there  was  no  fear 
but  that  I  was  unselfish,  and  so  I  must  be  right." 

"  Five  years  ;  five  long  years  !  "  said  Mr.  Jasper. 

"  When  they  told  me  you  had  come  back,"  said 
Bertha ;  "  when  Amy  said  you  appeared  to  her  not 
so  cheerful  as  when  you  went  away;  when  she 
told  me  that  the  little  duties  of  the  parish  weighed 
upon  you  now,  as  they  never  weighed  before,  — 
then  I  began  to  see,  perhaps  it  was  all  wrong.  I 
saw  that  you  had  been  living  an  incomplete  life. 
Something  had  been  wanting  to  you.  Oh  !  then  I 
felt  that  there  was  no  such  thing  as  breaking  a  tie 
like  that  which  bound  us  to  each  other.  There 
was  a  promise  that  had  never  been  spoken  in 
words,  yet  it  never  could  be  broken.  Though  you 
had  been  far  away,  I,  weak  and  suffering,  had 
bound  you  still." 

Mr.  Jasper  was  sitting  by  Bertha,  his  face  bur 
ied  in  his  hands.  "What  God  has  joined  together, 
man  cannot  break  asunder,"  he  said. 

"  The  suffering  had  not  been  wholly  mine,"  con 
tinued  Bertha ;  "  I  could  not  take  away  your 
share,  and  it  was  the  heavier  for  both  of  us, 
because  we  were  separated  from  each  other.  Will 
you  forgive  me  that  I  brought  upon  you  this  great 
suffering?  Will  you  forgive  me  that  I  sent  you 
out  alone  when  you  needed  human  help ;  forgive 
me  that  I  shut  up  in  myself  all  those  warm  feel 
ings,  all  that  love,  that  might  have  soothed  and 
encouraged  you  ? 


230  STRUGGLE   FOR   LIFE. 

"  I  have  seen  others  die  near  me,  whose  hold  on 
life  seemed  far  surer  than  mine,  who  have  passed 
out  suddenly  from  the  midst  of  warm  love  and 
healthy  action.  The  battle  is  not  always  to  the 
strong,  nor  the  race  to  the  swift.  I  have  learned, 
too,  that  though  the  world  needs  sorely  active 
workers,  yet  it  is  not  for  mere  usefulness  that  one 
may  be  loved.  A  long  illness  has  taught  me  that 
there  may  be  a  virtue  in  leaving  to  others  the 
work  we  long  to  do  ourselves ;  that  even  in  being 
dependent  upon  others,  we  may  find  a  pleasure  in 
their  willing  service,  may  give  a  pleasure  in  re 
ceiving  it  with  a  willing  heart.  I  could  not  give 
you  active  love,  that  hastens  to  move  all  obstacles 
from  the  path  of  those  it  loves,  that  wearies  not  in 
well-doing,  but  I  was  wrong  in  shutting  out  from 
you  the  sympathy  that  belonged  to  you,  that  was 
your  due.  I  should  have  waited  till  God  called 
me,  instead  of  leaving  behind  the  world  in  which 
he  planted  me,  in  order  to  go  to  meet  him.  I  am 
glad  to  see  you  again,  to  tell  you  what  I  am  in 
love  to  you  for  the  rest  of  the  life  God  gives  me 
here  ;  to  tell  you  I  have  blamed  myself  for  this 
five  years'  separation." 

"  Bertha,"  said  Mr.  Jasper,  "  there  is  nothing  for 
me  to  blame  in  you.  The  blame  must  fall  upon 
me.  You  only  miscalculated  my  strength.  I  was 
not  so  brave  as  you.  I  did  not  take  up  manfully 
the  duty  you  appointed  me.  We  might  have  been 
happier  if  we  had  not  parted,  but  there  was  no 


CONTEST   AND    PEACE.  231 

excuse  for  me.  Had  I  been  stronger,  I  might 
Lave  grown  into  greater  insight;  I  might  have 
taught  myself  that  my  place  was  by  you.  You 
took  upon  yourself  the  heavier  share  of  the  bur 
den,  only  to  stand  and  wait  in  the  presence  of 
God.  You  have  triumphantly  performed  your 
work;  I  come  home  one  of  the  vanquished." 

"  We  cannot  tell  about  triumph  or  defeat/'  said 
Bertha,  "  not  yet.  Perhaps  it  is  all  right,  that  I 
needed  this  lonely  time  to  wean  me  from  the 
world.  Yet,  indeed,  it  is  a  great  mistake  to  think 
that  sickness  can  wean  us  from  the  world.  Truly, 
the  best  way  to  prepare  for  another  life,  must  be 
to  live  this  one  thoroughly  and  truly.  And  sick 
ness  is  near  to  death  only  because  our  powers  are 
deadened  by  which  we  live  here,  and  we  know  not 
yot  how  to  unfold  what  we  shall  need  in  another 
life.  If  only  those  who  are  well  could  realize  that 
a  sick-room  is  truly  no  preparation  for  that  other 
world  ! » 

"  There  is  a  color  in  your  cheeks,  and  spirit  in 
your  eye,  and  the  spring  is  coming,"  said  Mr. 
Jasper,  "  but,  Bertha,  you  must  rest  now." 


CHAPTER    XXVII. 

WINTER    TALKS. 

MARTHA  left  Lang-dale  to  go  to  the  Normal  School. 
Her  absence  left  a  gap  in  Miss  Elspeth's  household. 
She  was  very  quiet  always,  but  always  thoughtful 
for  others.  Even  Miss  Dora  said,  "  Martha  is  a 
sensible  girl.  She  is  worth  her  weight,  in  common 
sense."  Miss  Dora  had  hoped  to  make  a  first-rate 
housekeeper  of  Martha,  because  she  was  so  docile, 
and  so  eager  to  render  herself  useful ;  but  she  was 
disappointed  when  Martha,  as  she  grew  up,  showed 
a  decided  taste  for  studying,  in  preference  to  the 
cares  of  the  house. 

"  I  should  not  have  expected  it,"  said  Miss  Dora, 
"of  one  of  Martha's  sense.  But  it  is  all  Elspeth's 
fault.  She  would  send  her  to  the  best  schools,  and 
there's  nothing  so  catching  as  book  learning." 
Miss  Dora,  too,  was  very  indignant  at  the  propo 
sition  of  her  going  to  the  Normal  School.  She 
thought  it  was  the  height  of  folly;  that  there 
should  be  a  school  for  schoolmasters.  "  Pray  who 
were  to  teach  the  teachers  of  the  Normal  School ! 
By  and  by  people  would  get  into  such  a  whirl,  they 


WINTER   TALKS.  233 

would  not  know  whether  they  were  teachers  or 
scholars  themselves." 

"  That's  the  true  principle,"  said  Martha ;  "  we 
are  all  learners  and  all  teachers." 

"  Fiddlestick  !  "  said  Miss  Dora ;  "  I  don't  like 
this  idea  of  girls  going  to  school  all  their  life  long. 
I  went  ten  months  to  learn  how  to  work  a  piece, 
and  I  considered  myself  finished  then.  What's  the 
use  of  my  learning  French,  when  I  shouldn't  want 
to  say  anything  to  a  Frenchman  if  I  saw  one.  I 
think  it's  blasphemous,  this  trying  to  learn  so  many 
languages.  What  were  people  made  to  talk  differ 
ently  for,  if  they  were  not  meant  to  talk  differently. 
One  of  these'days,  by  way  of  warning,  there'll  be 
another  Babel,  just  as  you  have  learnt  all  your 
languages ! " 

"  Oh  dear,"  said  Margie,  laughing,  "  and  shall  we 
have  to  learn  a  new  set  of  languages  !" 

"  Miss  Dora  will  wake  up  and  find  herself  talking 
German  !  "  said  Bessie. 

"  I  might  as  well  talk  German  now,"  said  Miss 
Dora,  "  for  all  the  attention  I  get.  There's  the 
sugar-bucket  standing  outside  the  cupboard  this 
minute,  that  I  told  you,  Bessie,  to  put  away,  full 
half  an  hour  ago." 

"  Oh,  but  dear  Miss  Dora,"  said  Bessie,  "  you 
know  I  only  waited  to  see  what  you  had  to  say 
about  languages." 

"  How  pleasant  the  p:\rlor  looks  1 "  said  Hannah, 
as  she  came  in  at  twilight  with  Margie,  the  day 
after  Martha  left. 


234  STRUGGLE   FOR   LIFE. 

"  Oh,  isn't  it  pleasant,"  said  Bessie ;  "  doesn't 
Miss  Dora  look  like  a  picture,  with  the  light  falling 
on  her  just  so  ?  There's  something  for  Margie  to 
paint  1 " 

"  If  we  had  more  light,"  said  Miss  Dora,  "  I  sup 
pose  you  think  I  shouldn't  make  so  much  of  a 
picture  !  Well,  Hannah,  so  Martha's  gone." 

"  I  bade  her  good-night  at  the  cars,"  said  Hannah. 
"  I  hoped  I  might  come  round  last  night  or  this 
morning  to  help  her,  but  we  were  too  busy." 

"  All  Martha  thought  of  was  packing  her  books," 
said  Miss  Dora.  "  I  should  think  she  was  going  to 
dress  in  books,  instead  of  gowns  and  collars." 

"  You  must  not  complain  of  Martha,"  said  Miss 
Elspeth ;  "  we  shall  miss  her  badly  enough." 

"  Margie  and  I  mean  to  be  so  lively,"  said  Bessie, 
"  that  you'll  think  there  are  four  girls  in  the  house, 
instead  of  two.  Only,  I  expect  to  act  very  badly, 
because  Martha  always  kept  me  in  order." 

"  Well,  we  shall  miss  Martha,"  said  Miss  Dora, 
"  in  taking  care  of  you." 

"  Oh,  she  has  helped  me  out  of  so  many  scrapes," 
said  Bessie,  "  it  is  so  much  easier  to  confess  scrapes 
when  they  are  well  over.  Do  you  remember  that 
time  when  I  burnt  all  the  cake  that  we  were  to 
have  for  tea?  Mrs.  Bunce  was  coming  to  tea.  I 
left  the  cake  in  the  oven  and  went  out  to  cool  my 
self  in  the  garden,  when  there  came  up  a  story  that 
Mrs.  Bunce's  pig  had  escaped.  I  ran  to  help  in 
the  chase,  and  forgot  all  about  my  cake  1 " 


WINTER   TALKS.  235 

"  I  remember,"  said  Miss  Dora.  "  I  didn't  know 
anything  about  it  till  it  was  all  over.  I  scolded 
you  well  then,  and  you  deserved  it." 

"  I  know  it,"  said  Bessie.  "  Martha  helped  me 
out  then.  She  went  into  the  Rothsays  and 
borrowed  some  fresh  cake  they  had  just  been 
baking.  You  were  putting  on  your  best  dress, 
and  we  did  not  have  a  chance  to  tell  you  till  Mrs. 
Bunce  had  gone." 

"  I  smelt  the  cake  burning,  though,"  said  Miss 
Dora.  "  I  supposed  you  had  spoilt  half  the  batch, 
if  you  hadn't  the  whole.  You  didn't  have  a  chance 
to  tell  me !  I  guess  you  might  have  made  a 
chance." 

"  Oh,  Martha  couldn't  have  kept  it  secret,"  said 
Bessie  ;  "  she  was  burning  to  tell  you,  and  she  did 
tell  Miss  Elspeth,  but  Mrs.  Bunce  talked  so  fast  she 
couldn't  put  in  a  word." 

"  I  remember  how  Martha  mended  your  bardge 
dress,"  said  Hannah. 

"  Yes,"  said  Bessie  ;  "  the  very  day  I  was  going 
to  the  Rothsays,  I  tore  it  slipping  off  the  ladder, 
as  I  came  down  from  the  cherry  tree." 

"  A  pretty  place  to  be  in  the  cherry  tree,  in  your 
barege  dress  !  "  said  Miss  Dora. 

"  "Well,  Martha  mended  it  so  beautifully,"  said 
Bessie,  "  that  I  was  more  proud  of  it  than  I  ever 
was  before." 

"  I  always  used  to  forget  to  take  the  right 
books  to  school,"  said  Margie,  "  and  when  I  got  to 


236  STRUGGLE  FOR  LIFE. 

school  I  always  found  Martha  had  brought  them 
for  me." 

"  She  always  reminded  me  to  study  my  lessons," 
said  Hannah. 

"  What  a  pity  Martha  is  not  here  to  hear  her 
praises  sung  !  "  said  Miss  Elspeth. 

"  I  guess  she  wishes  she  were  here  now/7  said 
Bessie.  "  I  wonder  what  she  is  about ;  talking  stiff 
to  some  poky  people,  I  suppose." 

"  Bertha  Carlton  said  she  knew  the  Mays,  with 
whom  Martha  is  to  board,"  said  Margie,  "  and  she 
says  they  are  very  pleasant  people." 

"  How  is  Bertha  to-day  ?  "  asked  Miss  Elspeth. 

"  I  think  her  strength  is  failing,"  said  Hannah. 
"  It  tires  her  more  to  talk  than  it  used  to." 

"  Oh,  but  she  says  so  much  in  so  few  words," 
said  Margie.  "  We  were  talking  this  afternoon 
about  that  book,  '  More  Worlds  than  One.'  Annie 
Lane  was  there." 

"  What  does  that  mean  ? "  said  Miss  Dora. 
"  Aren't  people  contented  with  one  world  ?  What 
with  California  and  Australia,  I  should  think  there 
was  room  enough  here  !  " 

"  Annie  Lane  said  she  liked  to  think  of  all  the 
stars  being  inhabited,"  said  Margie,  '•  and  what  an 
occupation  it  would  be  to  go  from  one  to  the  other, 
and  how  grand  it  was  to  think  there  was  so  much 
to  know." 

"  I  think  there's  enough  to  know  here,  and 
travelling  enough  here,"  said  Miss  Dora.  "  I  want 
to  get  to  a  place  where  I  can  be  quiet." 


WINTER   TALKS.  237 

"That  is  not  very  different  from  what  Bertha 
said,"  said  Margie.  "  She  said  she  was  afraid 
sometimes  of  forgetting  all  there  was '  to  enjoy  in 
this  world,  in  thinking  of  all  the  different  glory  that 
might  come  in  another.  I  think  she  spoke  for  my 
sake,  as  she  often  has  before.  She  thought  we 
might  pass  by  the  beauty  of  this  world,  if  we  were 
wondering  all  the  time  at  the  splendors  of  another. 
Then  when  we  reached  that,  we  should  be  looking 
after  another,  still  neglecting  what  lay  nearest  to 
us,  and  what  had  a  greater  claim  upon  us." 

"  There  is  so  much  to  think  of  in  this  world," 
said  Miss  Elspeth. 

"  And  it  is  so  easy  to  be  taken  up  with  just  one 
little  set  of  thoughts  and  cares,"  said  Margie. 

"  I  should  not  like  to  live  as  those  Miss  Rosses," 
said  Bessie.  "  I  showed  them  the  way  into  the 
woods  the  other  day,  and  wanted  to  have  them  see 
how  pretty  the  wood-paths  were,  and  what  splendid 
great  rocks  were  scattered  about,  and  what  a  mag 
nificent  tree  the  oak  was  !  But  they  were  so  intent 
on  picking  up  little  straws  they  were  going  to  paste 
on  paper  and  make  into  houses  and  fences,  that 
they  did  not  once  look  round." 

"  I  like  to  have  people  keep  their  eyes  open," 
said  Miss  Dora. 

"  I  believe  Bertha  thinks  I  am  always  in  a  maze, 
and  that  she  would  like  to  wake  me  out  of  it,"  said 
Margie. 

"  I  hope  she'll  succeed,"   said  Miss  Dora.     "  I 


238  STRUGGLE   FOR  LIFE. 

dare  say  now,  you  forgot  to  buy  the  split  peas  as 
you  came  along." 

"  I  did  forget  all  about  it,"  said  Margie,  starting 
up. 

"  I'll  go  for  them,"  said  Hannah. 

"  It's  too  late  now,"  said  Miss  Dora.  "  I  suppose 
we  shall  forget  to  have  dinner  now  Martha  has 
gone." 

"  We  shan't  need  much,  there  are  so  few  of  us," 
said  Bessie. 

"  Martha  wasn't  much  of  an  eater,"  said  Miss 
Dora.  "  But  I  dont  see  how  you  could  forget  the 
peas,  Margie  ;  I  told  you  the  very  last  thing  !  " 

"  I  could  have  got  them,"  said  Bessie.  "  No 
wonder  Margie  forgot  about  it." 

"  No  wonder,  indeed,"  said  Miss  Dora ;  "  talking 
about  all  the  worlds." 

"  Oh  dear,"  said  Margie,  "  I  never  shall  learn  to 
be  good  for  anything.  I  came  near  crushing  Miss 
Lane's  bonnet  this  afternoon.  It  was  in  the  chair 
I  usually  sit  in.  But  all  the  way  there  I  was  think 
ing  about  Martha's  going  away,  and  all  the  way 
home  I  was  thinking  of  what  they  had  been  talking 
about,  Bertha  and  Annie  Lane." 

"  You  must  have  been  a  pleasant  companion  for 
Hannah,"  said  Miss  Elspeth. 

"  Oh,  I  knew  what  she  was  thinking  about,"  said 
Hannah.  "  It  makes  everybody  thoughtful  to  go 
in  and  see  Miss  Bertha,  —  and  a  happy  sort  of 
thinking,  too,  it  gives  everybody, —  for  Miss  Bertha 


WINTER   TALKS.  239 

\ 

seems  happier  to  me  since  she  has  seen  Mr.  Jasper. 
He  comes  every  day  to  talk  with  her  f  every  day 
that  she  is  well  enough." 

"  I  hope  you  keep  up  your  early  rising,"  said 
Miss  Dora.  "  They  say  the  Carltons  are  late 
people  ;  but  there's  no  need  of  your  being  late.  I 
have  no  doubt  of  your  finding  enough  to  do,  if 
you  get  up  at  early  hours  all  the  winter  long." 

"  There's  no  danger  of  that,"  said  Hannah. 
"Mrs.  Carlton  gives  me  plenty  to  do ;  she  likes  to 
have  Bridget  and  me  up,  and  she  is  up  herself,  too, 
sewing  before  breakfast." 

Margie  and  Bessie  went  out  with  Hannah  when 
she  went  away.  Hannah  lingered  at  the  gate,  as 
she  always  used  to  do. 

"  It  seems  so  natural  to  stand  here,"  she  said. 

It  was  a  clear,  cold,  winter's  night,  and  the  stars 
shone  brightly  in  the  deep  blue  sky. 

"  How  many  worlds  there  are  up  there ! "  ex 
claimed  Margie. 

"  I  wonder  if  there  are  girls  standing  at  the 
garden  gates,  in  those  other  worlds,"  said  Bessie. 

"  And  I  wonder  if  we  shall  ever  know  them," 
said  Margie. 

"  I  had  rather  know  more  about  this  world,"  said 
Hannah. 

"  How  much  more  we  might  know  here,"  said 
Margie.  "  Perhaps  in  the  very  next  street  is 
standing  somebody  whom  we  might  help,  or  who 
might  help  us, —  some  friend  who  could  be  very 
friendly- to  us." 


240  STRUGGLE   FOB  LIFE. 

"  Perhaps  Steevie  is  waiting  somewhere,  wanting 
us,"  said  Hannah.  "  If  we  could  only  go  to  him, — 
if  we  could  only  know  where  he  is." 

"  He  knows  where  we  are,"  said  Bessie.  "  I 
think  some  day  he  will  come  to  us." 

"  Good  night." 


CHAPTER   XXVIII. 

A    DEPARTURE. 

AND  the  spring  came  again.  There  were  some 
warm  days  in  early  March.  They  bore  a  deceitful 
promise  of  spring,  and  even  a  warm  summer  glow. 
The  sun  shone  fervently  down  upon  the  moistened 
earth,  and  in  the  edges  of  the  woods  the  little 
vines  here  and  there  ventured  to  throw  off  their 
warm  winter  shelter  of  leaves.  There  was  a  lan 
guid  softness  in  the  air,  and  late  in  the  afternoon 
there  lingered  a  dreamy  haziness  about  the  atmos 
phere.  Occasionally  a  bird  was  seen  here  and 
there,  the  buds  were  swelling  on  the  trees,  there 
was  a  few  days'  forgetfulness  that  it  was  March, 
that  the  stormy  March  had  come,  and  not  spring 
herself. 

Some  complainers  bemoaned  of  the  unseason- 
ableness  of  the  weather;  they  liked  better  a  steady 
cold.  Mrs.  Bunce  said  that  as  long  as  she  had  not 
put  away  her  winter  things,  and  was  expecting  to 
keep  fires  in  the  house,  she  did  not  mind  its  being 
cold.  She  had  rather  have  it  now  than  in  the' 
middle  of  June.  And  yet,  Mrs.  Bunce  was  one  of 
16 


242  STRUGGLE  FOE  LIFE. 

those  who  found  something  unseasonable  in  every 
month  in  the  year.  Her  listeners  always  won 
dered  what  was  the  standard  of  climate  that  she 
had  laid  down.  Langdale  certainly  never  came 
up  to  it. 

The  few  warm  days  were  encouraging  to  the 
poor  people,  whose  means  for  fuel  were  small  or 
none,  because  some  of  the  charitable  societies  did 
not  give  out  fuel  in  March,  their  standard  of  the 
season's  warmth  and  cold  being  different  from  that 
of  Mrs.  Bunce. 

It  was  happy  for  the  poor  that  the  windows 
could  be  opened,  and  a  fresh  air  let  into  the  small, 
poor  houses  where  the  winter's  cold  had  been  an 
enemy,  and  a  few  sticks  or  a  little  coal  could  be 
saved  up  for  the  winter  days  that  might  yet  come, 
and  for  the  occasional  meal  when  a  fire  could  be 
afforded.  To  those  who  were  obliged  to  labor  all 
day,  there  was  something  oppressive  in  the  air 
that  exhausted  and  dispirited  them.  They  would 
have  enjoyed  so  much  a  little  moment  of  rest, 
when  they  could  fold  their  hands  and  look  out 
upon  the  fresh  activity  that  was  waking  up  in 
nature.  The  school-girls  found  their  books  weigh 
ing  heavily  as  they  carried  them  to  school,  and 
panted  for  the  air  as  they  came  out  of  the  close 
schoolroom  and  walked  lazily  home  in  the  warm 
noonday  sun. 

Agnes  returned  from  a  visit  in  town,  languid 
and  dispirited  too.  She  came  home  complaining 


A    DEPARTURE.  243 

tbat  she  was  forced  to  come  back  to  Langdale  in 
this  dreary  season  when  the  roads  were  so  muddy 
that  she  could  not  walk  nor  go  out  of  the  house, 
and  when  it  was  so  gay  and  lively  in  town.  Her 
complaints  were  hushed  when  she  entered  the 
house,  for  she  found  there  a  subdued  atmosphere. 
There  was  no  longer  any  strife  or  bickering.  Even 
Mrs.  Carlton's  querulousness  was  for  awhile  sub 
dued.  The  boys'  noisy  gayety  was  calmed.  They 
moved  about  the  house  quietly  and  gently.  They 
came  in,  closing  the  doors  carefully.  They  were 
unwilling  to  begin  upon  any  amusement  until  they 
had  knocked  at  Bertha's  door  to  know  if  she  were 
better,  or  to  ask  if  she  would  see  them.  Even 
Harry,  who  could  scarcely  know  what  it  was  that 
made  them  all  so  quiet,  sat  in  the  parlor  with  his 
picture  books,  so  that  his  noise  might  not  disturb 
any  one,  and  imitated  his  brothers,  often  asking  if 
he  was  not  wanted  for  anything,  and  could  not  do 
something  for  Bertha.  All  the  village,  too,  was 
quiet.  The  neighbors  were  all  thoughtful  in  their 
attentions  to  Bertha.  Bertha  was  loved  by  every 
body,  and  so  warmly,  that  what  she  suffered  was 
suffered  by  all. 

But  Bertha  was  not  suffering.  She  was  sinking 
away  as  gently  to  repose  as  sank  these  warm, 
summer-like  days  into  the  glowing  sunset.  She 
looked  out  through  the  opened  window  upon  the 
clear  outline  of  the  hills  beyond.  She  said  once  to 
Amy,  "  How  peaceful  it  looks  there.  It  reminds 


244  STEUGGLE   FOR   LIFE. 

/ 

me  of  that  place  to  which  we  shall  come  from  all 
doubt  and  sorrow ;  from  all  doubt  of  ourselves 
whether  we  are  right  or  wrong.  I  think  often, 
Amy,  of  those  beautiful  lines, — 

"  'And  thou  shalt  walk  in  soft,  white  light,  with  kings  and  priests  abroad, 
And  thou  shalt  summer  high  in  bliss  upon  the  hills  of  God.' 

"  I  often  think  of  them  as  I  look  upon  that  clear 
line  against  the  sky.  The  beautiful  hills !  The 
sky  always  seems  to  rest  gently  over  them  clear 
and  blue,  and  the  clouds  there  are  always  lighted 
up,  or  softened  by  some  glow." 

But  Bertha's  words  were  growing  fewer  as  her 
breath  grew  fainter,  while  from  her  room  the 
friends  that  loved  her  most,  carried  some  precious 
words  that  lingered  with  them  afterwards  to 
sustain  and  uphold  them.  They  saw  the  spirit 
was  passing  away  already,  leaving  a  glow  round 
the  beautiful  face  that  to  the  last  moment  was 
lighted  up  by  a  peaceful  happiness. 

Before  the  cold  spring  winds  had  returned  to 
chill  the  opening  earth,  Bertha  had  passed  out 
from  this  world  into  the  new  life.  It  seemed  as  if 
the  unwonted  loveliness  of  those  March  days  had 
been  sent  to  hang  as  a  beautiful  halo  round  the 
moment  of  her  departure.  On  the  day  that  was 
called  the  day  of  her  death  here,  the  air  was  soft 
and  mild,  the  budding  willows  waved  gently  over 
the  sunny  spot  where  was  laid  the  beautiful  form 
io  which  her  spirit  had  given  life. 


A    DEPARTURE.  245 

There  was  a  heavy  sorrow  and  silence  in  Lang- 
dale  at  Bertha's  departure.  She  had  been  loved  so 
warmly  by  all,  that  her  absence  left  a  great  space 
among  them.  The  change  was  not  hurried  over 
and  forgotten,  as  it  might  have  been  in  larger 
places,  where  the  tumult  and  rustle  and  changes 
of  one  day  hurry  out  the  remembrance  of  the  day 
before.  There  was  time  enough  to  recall  all  she 
had  been  in  life,  to  feel  that  her  memory  was  living 
still  and  fresh.  For  some  months,  though  she  had 
not  been  present  in  the  little  circle,  her  influence 
had  been  warmly  felt,  and  now  it  seemed  as  if  she 
had  scarcely  been  taken  farther  away  from  them. 

Amy  wondered  at  the  strength  and  cheerfulness 
with  which  Mr.  Jasper  went  through  his  duties. 
He  was  more  active  than  ever.  She  met  him  one 
day  in  one  of  the  poorer  houses  in  the  outskirts  of 
Langdale. 

"Are  you  strong  enough  for  all  this?"  asked 
Amy.  "  Are  you  not  working  too  hard?  " 

"  I  believe  the  hard  work  helps  me,"  said  Mr. 
Jasper.  "  Sometimes  I  feel  like  stopping  to  think. 
I  feel  like  shutting  myself  up  with  my  own 
thoughts,  and  having  my  sorrow  out.  That  might 
be  better  for  some  people,  and  at  such  times  I 
think  with  a  half  envy  of  those  who  believe  they 
purify  themselves  in  leaving  the  world,  its  cares  as 
well  as  its  temptations.  I  feel  as  if  I  heard  those 
beautiful  words :  '  Never  did  Nature  or  Art  offer 
thee  pleasure  so  great,  as  did  that  beautiful  form 


246  STRUGGLE   TOTl   LIFE. 

in  which  I  was  enclosed,  that  now  lies  scattered  in 
the  earth.  And  if  thy  highest  pleasure  so  failed 
thee  at  my  death,  what  mortal  thing  ought  to 
lure  thee  to  its  love  ?  Thou  oughtest,  at  that  first 
stroke,  to  have  lifted  thyself  above  all  that  is 
deceitful,  directly  to  me,  who  was  no  longer  among 
such  things.'" 

"  Bertha  did  not  say  those  words  ?  "  asked  Amy. 

"  Beatrice  reproaches  Dante  with  them,"  said  Mr. 
Jasper.  "  No,  Bertha  did  not  use  such  words.  It 
is  the  purity  and  beauty  of  her  life  and  thoughts 
that  lift  me  that  way  to  her.  I  think  Bertha 
would  have  dreaded  using  any  words  that  should 
have  seemed  to  move  me  away  from  whatever 
duties  there  are  waiting  for  me  in  the  world." 

"  Oh,  I  think,"  said  Amy,  "  that  she  used  to 
reproach  herself  for  what  she  used  to  call  her  sin 
of  Other-worldliness.  She  said  that  for  many  years 
she  had  thought  too  much  of  another  world,  and 
had  tried  to  live  too  little  in  this." 

"  In  all  her  last  words,"  continued  Mr.  Jasper, 
"  she  was  urgent  in  praising  all  the  work  of  this 
life.  I  think  by  her  death  she  sang  a  song  of  life." 

"  She  must  have  had,"  said  Amy,  "  a  constitu 
tional  shrinking  from  all  the  real  struggle  of  life. 
It  would  have  been  hard  for  her  to  have  been 
out  in  the  battle  of  life,  contending  with  many  who 
were  uncongenial  to  her.  And  yet  how  brave  and 
courageous  she  was  in  all  the  struggles  she  did  go 
through  ;  how  patient  in  her  want  of  sympathy, 


A    DEPARTURE.  247 

which  must  have  been  at  home,  a  continual  want 
for  her." 

"  It  is  strange  to  think,"  said  Mr.  Jasper,  "  that 
she  already  knows  what  we  still  doubt  of,  aud 
question ;  that  her  faith  has  passed  out  into  cer 
tainty,  or  higher  questionings  have  risen  upon  the 
lower  mists  that  trouble  us  here." 

Hannah  found  the  house  very  lonely  and  deso 
late.  The  younger  children  were  oppressed  with 
a  feeling  of  sadness,  the  whole  weight  of  which 
they  did  not  understand.  Fred  and  Tom  went 
about  the  house  without  occupation,  and  unwilling 
to  begin  upon  any  amusement,  finding  no  one  to 
sympathize  with  them.  Mr.  Carlton  involved  him 
self  more  than  ever  in  his  business.  Mrs.  Carlton 
had  no  resources  in  the  hour  of  great  sorrow,  and 
no  comfort  to  bring  to  those  around  her,  only  her 
own  complainings.  Agnes  was  sullen  and  capri 
cious.  She,  perhaps,  felt  deeply  her  loss  in  Bertha, 
and  was  disturbed  by  a  self-reproach  that  she  had 
not  been  more  to  her  while  she  lived.  But  this 
she  would  not  show  to  Bertha's  friends.  She  was 
unwilling  to  give  way  to  any  feeling  before  them, 
and  wore  an  air  of  indifference,  though  no  longer 
of  gayety.  Hannah  missed  the  expression  of  sor 
row.  It  was  hard  to  go  back  to  the  old  routine  of 
duties,  only  those  duties  wanting  that  were  the 
lightest  to  perform,  that  gave  strength  for  others. 


CHAPTER    XXIX. 

A    EETUEN. 

THE  same  spring  that  bore  a  way ,  one  of  Amy's 
friends,  brought  back  George  Arnold.  He  returned 
in  April  to  Langdale. 

Frank  brought  to  Amy  the  telegraphic  dispatch 
that  announced  George  would  arrive  in  Boston  by 
the  morning  train  from  New  York.  He  would 
come  directly  to  Langdale.  Amy  went  into  the 
garden  to  await  him.  She  walked  up  and  down  its 
alleys.  She  listened  eagerly  for  the  whistle  of  the 
engine  that  would  prepare  her  for  George's 
approach.  She  looked  down  the  path  into  the 
woods.  A  leafless  branch  that  hung  across  the 
entrance,  waved  often  deceitfully  as  though  it 
were  moved  by  some  one  passing  by.  She  had 
heard  the  hurry  and  the  bustle  of  the  cars ;  cer 
tainly  it  never  took  any  one  so  long  to  come 
through  that  little  path.  She  turned  away  again 
from  watching  it.  Suddenly  she  heard  a  voice 
behind  her.  George  was  standing  by  her  side. 
She  looked  at  him  doubtfully  a  moment.  He  was 
changed  indeed  in  so  many  years.  He  had  cer- 


A    RETURN.  249 

taiuly  grown  manly,  he  was  taller,  liis  figure 
broader.  Then  his  complexion  was  bronzed,  and 
the  dark  moustache  gave  him  a  different  expres 
sion.  But  his  voice  was  the  same.  "  You  don't 
know  me,  Amy,"  he  said,  "  you  do  not  feel  quite 
sure  that  it  is  I  ?  But  I  have  no  doubt  of  you.  I 
knew  the  sunny  brown  hair,  I  saw  the  well-known 
figure  in  the  distance  as  I  came  through  the  woods. 
Through  the  branches  of  the  low  bushes  it  shone 
upon  me  like  sunlight !  A  little  more  slender, 
perhaps !  But  the  face  is  quite  the  same.  The 
hair  hangs  a  little  lower,  either  side  the  cheeks, 
and  the  mouth  falls  into  a  sadder  curve,  though  it 
smiles,  and  tears  are  in  the  eyes.  But  you  are  my 
Amy  still  ?  Will  you  speak  to  me  and  tell  me  so  ? 
Or  shall  I  begin  freshly  to  plead  my  cause  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  tell  if  I  am  dreaming,"  said  Amy, 
"  my  eyes  swim,  I  cannot  see  if  it  is  you,  if  it  is 
George." 

"  Sit  down  in  the  old  seat  here,"  said  George  ; 
"  let  the  sun  come  through  the  lattice,  the  warm, 
welcoming  sun.  All  through  the  woods  I  heard 
voices  speaking  to  me.  The  oak  would  like  te 
have  talked  to  me,  but  I  hurried  by  too  fast.  Am 
I  the  same?  Not  quite  the  same, though  these  old 
voices  will  call  me  back  into  the  past.  Not  the 
same,  —  better,  I  hope.  You  are  willing  I  should 
change  in  order  to  be  stronger,  Amy,  than  I  was?" 

"  I  have  been  almost  afraid,"  said  Amy,  "  I  loved 
the  old  so  much,  till  this  moment  I  have  been 


STRUGGLE   FOR  LIFE. 

almost  afraid  to  see  you,  George.  I  wanted  no 
change." 

"  Not  even  for  the  better,  Amy  ?  "  asked  George. 
"  Perhaps,  indeed,  you'll  not  be  disappointed ;  per 
haps  I  have  grown  no  better." 

"  You  are  quite  the  same,"  said  Amy.  "  I'm  so 
very  happy." 

"  Perhaps  you  saw  in  me  what  was  best,"  said 
George,  "  and  I  have  been  working  to  make  myself 
worthy  of  you ;  to  raise  myself  to  the  ideal  you 
had  formed  of  me !  After  all,  I  have  brought 
home  little  that  I  did  not  carry  away.  I  was  to 
come  home  an  artist.  I  have  brought  home  no 
great  works  for  you  to  be  proud  of." 

"  I  did  not  want  to  be  proud  of  your  great 
works,  but  of  you,"  said  Amy.  "  George,  that  did 
disappoint  me ! " 

"  I  saw  it  did,"  said  George.  "  I  knew  that  it 
must  be  your  fancy  had  given  me  greater  powers 
than  I  possessed.  I  was  not  so  great  as  you,  and 
I  dreamed  that  I  was,  under  the  oak-tree.  I  woke 
out  of  the  illusion  before  I  had  dreamed  away  my 
life." 

"  I  cannot  yet  think  those  were  all  dreams  and 
illusions,"  said  Amy ;  "  though  while  I  hear  you 
speak  I  find  myself  willing  to  believe  all  you  say." 

"  As  you  believed  what  I  said  then,"  said 
George,  "  it  is  well  I  am  no  longer  the  will-o'-the- 
wisp,  the  ignis  fatuus  I  was,  to  lead  you  after  me, 
over  marshes  and  briars.  Now,  I  am  come  home  a 


A    RETURN.  251 

solid  man.  I  no  longer  go  astray  in  fields  of  art. 
I  sit  down  and  count  my  gains  and  ponder  fresh 
ones." 

"  That  I  will  not  believe,"  said  Amy. 

"  Well,  then,  Amy,  I  will  tell  you  I  have  had 
some  struggles,"  said  George.  "  At  first  I  did 
indulge  in  complainings.  I  found  myself  reproach 
ing  the  way  I  had  been  brought  up,  my  early  life. 
If  I  had  only  been  permitted  to  bring  out  my 
early  tastes ;  if  what  talent  I  had,  had  been  cher 
ished  ;  if  my  youth  had  not  been  thrown  away, — I 
amused  and  tortured  myself  with  such  exclama 
tions  as  these.  But  they  were  idle  and  foolish. 
An  artist  needs  more  strength  of  mind,  more  earn 
estness  and  singleness  of  purpose  than  any  other 
laborer ;  more  than  I  possessed.  If  I  had  been 
trained  earlier  to  work,  to  work  about  something, 
if  it  had  only  been  in  a  sawmill,  I  should  have 
been  better  fitted  for  an  artist,  than  I  was  when  I 
began  to  look  around  me  and  ask  myself  what  I 
was  ready  to  do.  It  was  a  time  of  despair  then  ! 
As  I  gave  up  the  hope  of  helping  to  make  the 
world  glorious  in  art,  so  I  must  lose  all  hope.  I 
was  not  fitted  even  to  be  a  shoemaker.  I  had  not 
the  power  of  application  which  would  make  me 
worthy  the  lowest  profession  or  trade.  This  was 
when  your  letter  came  to  me,  —  the  one  that 
decided  me." 

"  My  poor  letter,"  said  Amy.  "  It  was  written 
with  a  very  different  purpose." 


252  STRUGGLE   FOB   LIFE. 

"It  was  written  to  infuse  strength  into  my  poor 
wavering  spirit,"  said  George.  I  determined  to 
make  myself  fit  for  living  somehow,  and  I  chose 
the  easiest  way.  The  clank  of  dollars  and  cents 
would  drown  the  voice  of  the  syrens.  I  might 
forget  the  forms  of  the  sculpture  round  the  tem 
ple,  at  sight  of  the  gold  and  silver,  and  in  the  com 
pany  of  those  who  bought  and  sold." 

"  Oh,  don't  go  on  in  that  way,"  said  Amy.  "  If 
it  were  not  for  the  tones  of  your  voice  I  should 
think  you  were  speaking  in  bitterness." 

"  And  you  would  not  have  me  speak  bitterly  of 
the  trade  that  I  have  chosen,  of  the  profession  that 
I  am  going  to  follow  ?  "  said  George.  "  It  would  not 
be  fair  in  me,  I  have  found  such  friends  among  my 
fellow-laborers ;  it  would  be  dishonorable  of  me. 
Indeed,  there  is  no  need  of  the  fingers  being  soiled 
by  the  base  metal  that  passes  through  them.  I 
have  seen  brave  deeds  done,  Amy,  with  dollars  and 
cents,  equal  in  beauty  to  a  copper  statue  or  a  vase 
of  silver.  I  have  only  changed  the  tools  of  my 
trade.  I  am  going  to  work  on  in  the  same  cause 
for  art  and  beauty  still." 

"  That  sounds  natural,"  said  Amy.  "  The  words 
come  out  with  the  old  earnestness." 

"I  have  only  come  home  to  carry  out  the  old 
theories,"  said  George,  "  and  your  favorite  theory, 
too.  Do  you  remember  the  day  you  taught  me 
that  even  to  sweep  a  room  was  '  divine.'  I  have  a 
sketch  of  you  I  made  from  recollection,  a  white 


A    RETURN.  253 

handkerchief  pointed  over  your  head,  a  dark  dress 
with  a  white  apron  which  floated  in  front,  a  fresh 
color  in  your  cheek,  and  a  broom  that  was  exceed 
ingly  picturesque  in  your  hand.  After  all,  the 
beautiful  lies  in  the  actual.  What  we  admire,  is 
the  way  the  spirit  expresses  itself.  It  is  the  ex 
pression  that  gives  the  charm  to  the  form,  and  a 
beautiful  spirit  must  give  beauty  to  the  form." 

"  So  you  have  time  to  theorize  a  little  over  the 
dollars  and  cents,"  said  Amy. 

"  I  am  another  Benvenuto  Cellini,"  said  George. 
"  I  work  in  silver  and  gold  for  merchant  princes. 
My  vessels  bring  the  raw  material  from  the  mines 
in  California.  We  put  it  into  a  crucible  and  it 
comes  out  silks  and  burlaps,  and  teas  and  coffees. 
My  works  of  Art  ornament  and  refresh  the  world, 
only  I  do  not  carve  my  name  on  their  pedestals." 

"  These  theories,  then,  don't  interfere  with  the 
great  labors,"  said  Amy. 

"  You  will  be  sceptical,  still,"  said  George. 
"  You  think  I  can  do  nothing  still  but  talk.  I  will 
show  you  solid  proofs  of  my  power, —  testimonials 
of  the  esteem  in  which  I  am  held  by  the  magnates 
in  my  field  of  Art.  No,  I  have  not  a  great  picture 
to  bring  home,  a  great  historical  work,  done  in 
my  own  school  of  color,  an  American  work  of 
genius  !  I  am  not  a  member  of  the  great  Academy 
of  Art !  But  I  have  a  whole  shipload  consigned 
to  me,  and  papers  and  documents  to  show  that  I 
am  partner  in  the  great  firm  of  Shelburne,  Arnold, 
&  Shelburne  !  Are  you  satisfied  ?  " 


254  STRUGGLE  FOR  LIFE. 

"  I  must  be  satisfied,"  said  Amy,  "  since  you  are 
here." 

"  But  I  shall  have  greater  demands  to  make  of 
you,"  said  George.  "  We  used  to  have  old  dreams, 
of  a  home  among  the  mountains,  in  the  midst  of 
grand,  glorious  scenery.  We  would  only  leave  it 
to  go  to  more  glorious  places  still,  to  see  the  great 
ocean,  or  to  cross  it  for  Italy  and  Greece  and 
Spain.  Wherever  we  went,  wherever  we  lived, 
we  were  to  live  for  the  sake  of  Art.  I  was  to 
devote  myself  to  its  study,  and  you  were  to  admire 
all  that  I  labored  upon.  These  were  great  plans, 
and  it  was  in  the  archway  of  such  a  glorious  life 
that  you  promised  yourself  to  me.  I  have  turned 
away  from  that  path.  Will  you  come  into  the 
home  that  I  am  going  to  build  now, —  a  little 
narrow  house, —  a  brick  house,  in  a  brick  street  in 
Boston  ?  The  view  of  the  sky  will  be  telescopic 
only, —  the  outline  from  the  windows  will  be  the 
jagged  outline  of  brick  chimneys.  The  walks  will 
not  lead  through  pine  tasselled  woods,  but  over 
dusty  pavements,  and  there  will  be  noise  and 
clatter  of  wheels,  instead  of  murmurings  in  trees. 
The  thought  of  Art,  the  study  of  Beauty  will  be 
my  rest,  and  not  my  labor.  There  will  be  around 
our  house,  not  even  such  beauty  as  hangs  round 
Langdale.  Can  you  look  upon  such  a  home  with 
the  same  hopefulness  you  had  in  the  old  days,  and 
give  me  the  same  promise  you  gave  me  then?" 

"  While  you  speak  to  me,  while  you  are  by  my 


A    RETURN.  255 

sido,"  said  Amy,  "  I  hear  and  see  nothing  else. 
Even  Langdale  fades  out  of  my  sight.  How  can  I 
care  what  air  surrounds  me,  what  walls  shut  me 
in,  so  that  we  have  each  other  to  live  and  hope 
for ! " 

In  the  evening  Bessie  went  hastily  to  the 
Carltons'. 

"  0  Hannah,  we  want  you  to  come  home  to 
spend  the  evening.  George  Arnold  has  come 
home !  and  we  want  to  talk  with  you  about  it. 
Mr.  George  Arnold !  You  would  not  know  him. 
And  they  are  all  so  happy !  And  we  have  so 
much  to  tell. 


CHAPTER    XXX. 

GOING   AWAY. 

MRS.  CARLTON  was  becoming  more  capricious 
and  rigorous  in  her  treatment  of  Hannah.  One 
morning,  after  Hannah  had  spent  an  evening  at 
Miss  Elspeth's,  Mrs.  Carlton  lectured  her  severely 
upon  her  love  of  going  out. 

"  Bridget,  too,  is  out.  every  night,"  she  went  on, 
"  and  I  am  half  the  time  left  to  sit  down  stairs 
alone  in  the  house.  Last  night  I  heard  a  noise  at 
the  back  part  of  house  ;  I  went  to  the  door,  but 
there  was  nobody  there !  I  called  Mr.  Carlton, 
who  was  asleep  over  the  newspaper,  and  he  looked 
round  in  the  yard  and  did  not  see  anybody.  But  I 
am  convinced  some  one  had  been  there  from  the 
noise  I  heard.  Either  it  was  burglars  trying  to 
get  into  the  house,  or  else  it  was  yours  or  Brid 
get's  friends." 

"  I  have  no  friends  to  come  and  see  me  at  that 
time,"  said  Hannah. 

"  I  don't  wish  to  be  contradicted,"  said  Mrs. 
Carlton.  "  I  dare  say  you  have  as  many  friends  as 
anybody,  and  I  have  no  doubt  they  are  a  poor  set. 


GOING   AWAY.  257 

I  don't  wish  to  have  them  lingering  about  the 
house.  Agnes  says  you  have  a  friend  that  writes 
to  you  who  does  not  know  how  to  spell.  They 
had  better  keep  away  from  here." 

"  There's  no  danger  that  any  one  will  come  to 
see  me,"  said  Hannah,  about  to  leave  the  room. 

"  All  the  Irish  are  banded  together,"  said  Mrs. 
Carlton ;  "  and  they  all  know  one  another,  and  they 
all  uphold  one  another,  and  if  you  trust  yourself 
to  one,  you  trust  yourself  to  all." 

For  some  time  longer  Mrs.  Carlton  kept  up  this 
tone  of  conversation  with  Hannah.  She  was 
always  making  some  complaint  of  the  way  in 
which  she  did  her  work. 

"  I've  been  expecting  it,"  said  Bridget  to  Han 
nah.  "  Mrs.  Carlton  don't  ever  keep  her  girls 
more  than  one  winter.  I  supposed  she'd  quarrel 
us  off  before  the  spring  came.  And  I'm  about 
ready  to  go,  for  my  part.  I'd  as  lief  live  in  the 
big  bell  of  Bow,  as  hear  the  sound  of  Mrs.  Carl- 
ton's  tongue  all  day." 

But  Hannah  did  not  -feel  this  willingness  to  go. 
She  was  attached  to  the  memory  of  Bertha  that 
lingered  round  the  house.  She  was  even  fond  of 
the  boys  now.  Little  Harry  was  more  obedient  to 
her  than  any  one  else.  Arthur  liked  to  read 
stories  to  her  when  she  was  sewing.  The  other 
boys,  it  is  true,  were  always  appealing  to  her  for 
help,  but  they  had  learned  to  be  grateful  in  their 

17 


258  STRUGGLE   FOR  LIFE. 

acknowledgments,  and  it  was  pleasant  to  her  to 
think  that  she  was  useful. 

At  last  there  came  an  outburst.  Mrs.  Carlton 
found  a  favorite  cream-pitcher  broken.  She  called 
in  Hannah  and  accused  her  of  breaking  it.  Han 
nah  said  that  she  knew  nothing  of  it ;  she  did  not 
know  it  was  broken. 

"  How  can  you  deny  it,  Hannah  ?  "  Mrs.  Carlton 
said.  "  You  know  you  are  more  awkward  than 
any  one  else  in  the  house,  and  that  no  one  else 
could  have  broken  it." 

"  I  know  I  am  awkward,  Mrs.  Carlton,"  Hannah 
said,  "  and  that  it  would  be  very  likely  I  might 
break  it,  but  I  never  would  deny  it  if  I  had  broken 
it." 

"  I  don't  wish  to  listen  to  your  fine  language," 
said  Mrs.  Carlton.  "  If  you  can't  speak  the  truth 
you  may  as  well  not  speak." 

"  Perhaps  I  had  better  not  stay  in  the  house," 
began  Hannah,  slowly. 

"  You  are  quite  right,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Carlton. 
"  And  Mrs.  Fales  told  me  this  morning  of  the  two 
sisters  of  her  cook  who  are  in  want  of  a  place. 
They  are  American  girls.  I've  been  dissatisfied 
with  Bridget  a  long  time  —  "  She  stopped  with 
out  finishing  her  sentence. 

"  I  was  going  on  to  say,"  said  Hannah,  "  that  1 
would  rather  stay  here  till  I  could  find  out  who 
did  break  the  pitcher ;  that  I  would  rather  not 
go  till  I  could  show  you  I  did  speak  the  truth 


GOING    AWAY.  259 

this  time ;  but  if  you  have  already  found  some  one 
for  my  place  —  " 

"  What  is  this  about  breaking  the  pitcher  ?  "  said 
Agnes,  sauntering  into  the  room.  "  What  a  loud 
talk  about  nothing !  You  need  not  lecture  Han 
nah,  ma'am,  about  the  pitcher.  I  broke  it  myself 
and  picked  up  the  pieces  !  " 

"  You  might  have  told  me  of  it,"  said  Mrs.  Carl- 
ton  ;  "  but  it  makes  no  difference.  Hannah  and  I 
were  talking  of  her  going  away.  Hannah  herself 
seems  to  think  she  had  better  leave,  and  we  have 
not  got  along  well  together  for  some  time." 

"  You  won't  find  anybody  that  will  do  so  much 
work,"  said  Agnes.  "  I  would  advise  you  not  to 
let  Hannah  go." 

"  I  shall  not  try  to  find  any  one  to  do  all  your 
work,  Agnes,"  said  Mrs.  Carlton.  "  It  is  time  that 
you  begun  to  work  for  yourself.  I  am  tired  of 
having  disputes  with  Hannah,  and  we  had  better 
part." 

"  Perhaps  it  is  better  so,"  said  Hannah,  turning 
slowly  to  leave  the  room,  but  she  came  back 
quickly.  "  Mrs.  Carlton,  I  had  rather  not  go,"  said 
she.  "  I  will  stay  and  work  hard  for  you.  It  is 
like  working  for  Miss  Bertha  still.  It  will  be  like 
parting  from  her  again  to  go  away.  I  will  do  all 
you  ask  me.  I  will  promise  to  see  no  friends  of 
mine." 

"  I  see  you  are  willing  enough  to  stay,"  said  Mrs. 
Carlton,  coldly.  •''  I  supposed  it  would  be  so.  When 


2GO  STRUGGLE   FOR   LIFE. 

it  comes  to  the  point  you  don't  care  to  leave  a 
good  place.  And  it  wouldn't  do  for  Miss  Elspeth 
to  know  that  you  didn't  suit  me  any  longer.  But 
I  don't  like  such  uneasy  minds." 

More  words  followed.  Agnes  interposed,  but 
her  interposition  only  irritated  Mrs.  Carlton  the 
more,  and  the  conversation  ended  by  Mrs.  Carl- 
ton's  insisting  that  Hannah  should  leave  that  very 
night. 

"  You  had  better  go  now  and  pack  up  your 
things,"  was  her  final  dismissal. 

Hannah  met  Fred  at  the  door  as  she  was  leaving 
the  room.  He  followed  her. 

"  Has  mother  been  quarrelling  you  away  ?  "  he 
asked.  "  It  is  a  real  shame,  after  you  have  been 
knocked  about  all  winter  !  It  is  all  the  better  for 
you.  There  is  nobody  fit  to  live  with  in  the 
house.  I  wish  somebody  would  send  me  off.  We 
shan't  ever  have  anybody  we  like  as  well  as  you. 
And  nobody  that  is  good  for  anything  will  stay  in 
such  a  house.  I  am  sure  I  wouldn't  ask  them  to." 

Fred  turned  away,  and  there  were  tears  in  his 
eyes.  Not  for  Hannah,  but  for  the  uncomfortable 
home  and  its  succession  of  discords  and  annoy 
ances.  He  would  keep  outside  of  it  as  much  as 
possible,  and  take  the  other  boys  with  him.  If 
there  was  nobody  to  think  of  or  care  for  them  at 
home,  they  needn't  stay  there. 

Hannah  went  to  her  room  bewildered.  She 
shrunk  from  the  idea  of  going  back  to  Miss  Els- 


GOIXG   AWAY.  2G1 

peth.  Now  was  the  time  to  carry  out  the  long, 
cherished  plan  of  taking  care  of  herself.  Mrs. 
Carlton  had  promised  her  the  back  wages  owing  to 
her.  This  would  be  enough  to  carry  her  to  New 
York.  Janet's  letter  had  given  her  some  direc 
tions  where  to  find  her  if  she  should  ever  go 
there.  She  put  up  her  things  hurriedly,  deter 
mining  she  would  not  go  to  see  Miss  Elspeth.  She 
left  Bessie  safe  there,  and  now  she  would  try  for 
herself. 

In  the  midst  of  her  plans  she  was  summoned  to 
the  parlor,  and  was  surprised  to  find  Mrs.  Paxton 
there,  with  Agnes. 

"  Mrs.  Paxton  wants  you,"  said  Agnes,  "  for  Mrs. 
Strange,  to  take  care  of  Mrs.  Strange's  baby.  She 
heard  that  mother  was  going  to  send  you  away, 
through  Mrs.  Pales." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Paxton.  "  Mrs.  Fales's  cook 
told  our  chambermaid  that  her  sister  was  coming 
here  in  Hannah's  place.  Miss  Agnes  says,  Han 
nah,  that  her  mother  has  no  serious  complaint  to 
make  of  you.  Now,  Mrs.  Strange  is  all  packed  up 
to  go  away  to  New  York  to-morrow,  and  her  nur 
sery-maid  is  taken  sick,  and  we  want  somebody 
directly  to  take  her  place." 

"  They  want  you,  Hannah,"  said  Agnes,  "  to  go 
on  to  New  York  to-morrow,  and  to  take  care  of 
Mrs.  Strange's  baby." 

••  [t  is  just  the  way  everything  happens,"  said 
Mrs.  Paxton ;  "  that  Mary  should  be  taken  sick  at 


262  STRUGGLE   FOE   LIFE. 

this  time.  She  has  always  been  a  very  reliable 
girl,  but  one  cannot  tell  what  to  depend  upon.  I 
don't  like  Eleanora's  going  away  again  so  soon,  but 
it  seems  very  quiet  to  her  here,  and  so  sad  and  all ; 
and  she  is  so  used  to  travelling,  she  is  listless 
whenever  she  is  still.  Then  Mr.  Strange's  friends 
are  anxious  to  see  the  children.  The  baby  is  such 
a  splendid  fellow,  and  the  little  girl  is  a  little  thing, 
but  she  has  such  pretty  ways.  I  should  like  to 
have  gone  to  see  Miss  Elspeth.  I  suppose  she 
would  give  Hannah  a  good  recommendation.  Any 
body  that  she  has  brought  up  ought  to  be  faithful 
with  a  young  child." 

All  the  while  Mrs.  Paxton  was  pouring  out 
this  and  more  to  Agnes,  Hannah  was  standing  in 
doubt.  And  yet  hardly  in  doubt,  rather  in  a  sur 
prised  pleasure.  Here  was  an  easy  way  to  go 
to  New  York.  Her  wish  was  suddenly  antici 
pated.  And  when  Mrs.  Paxton  and  Agnes  allowed 
her  time  to  speak,  it  was  to  give  her  consent. 
Indeed,  Mrs.  Paxton's  carriage  was  at  the  door. 
She  would  take  Hannah  away  with  her  if  Hannah 
was  ready.  She  had  left  Ronald  crying  for  his 
nurse,  and  it  would  be  a  comfort  to  take  Hannah 
back  directly. 

Hannah  felt  herself  carried  away  in  a  whirl. 
She  was  naturally  slow  of  thought  and  motion,  and 
now  gave  herself  up  to  Mrs.  Paxton's  quick  sug 
gestions.  She  thought  to  herself  bitterly  that  it 
was  but  a  change  of  masters,  but  she  was  attracted 


GOING    AWAY.  263 

by  the  novelty,  and  was  rather  pleased  than  other 
wise,  when  Mrs.  Paxton  kept  her  so  occupied 
through  the  rest  of  the  day  that  she  had  no  oppor 
tunity  to  go  to  consult  Miss  Elspeth,  or  tell  her  of 
this  change  in  her  life. 


CHAPTER    XXXI. 

THE  WHIKL    OF  WATERS. 

THE  next  day,  Hannah  set  forth  upon  her  jour, 
ney,  taking  the  station  at  Langdale  for  New  York. 
Hannah  was  to  have  the  care  of  the  youngest 
child  only;  a  French  maid  took  charge  of  the  little 
girl.  As  she  could  speak  nothing  but  French, 
Hannah  could  have  little  intercourse  with  her. 
At  New  York  they  went  directly  to  the  house  of 
old  Mr.  Strange. 

Hannah's  first  view  of  New  York,  was  when  she 
went  to  take  the  child  out  with  some  other  nurses 
of  the  family  and  neighborhood.  They  were  all 
dressed  in  their  best,  the  nurses  and  the  babies. 
Little  Master  Ronald,  Hannah's  charge,  met  a  full 
share  of  attention.  His  Paris  hat  and  embroidered 
cloak  were  the  study  and  delight,  not  only  of  the 
whole  band  of  nurses,  but  of  the  mothers  who 
were  straying  up  and  down  the  sidewalk.  Many 
were  the  questions  Hannah  was  obliged  to  an 
swer  with  regard  to  him.  She  herself  was  won 
by  his  great  blue  eyes  and  his  healthy  good 
nature.  Hannah  repeated  to  Mrs.  Strange  the 
praises  that  baby  had  received. 


THE   WHIRL    OF   WATERS.  265 

"  Ronald  does  look  well,"  she  said,  languidly ; 
"  but  Hannah,  you  must  not  let  him  crumple  his 
ruche ;  you  must  keep  his  hands  still." 

Hannah  afterwards  walked  down  Broadway  with 
one  of  the  women.  She  was  bewildered  and  con 
fused  by  the  noises,  by  the  crush  of  people.  She 
saw  a  great  many  girls  dressed  as  she  fancied 
Janet  would  be  ;  she  shrank  when  they  came  near 
her.  She  had  no  desire  to  meet  Janet  yet.  She 
would  wait  a  little  while  and  see  what  a  life  in 
New  York  might  be,  and  Mrs.  Strange  did  not 
allow  her  much  time  to  make  inquiries. 

And  indeed,  her  interest  in  the  little  Ronald 
held  her  unconsciously,  as  well  as  the  newness  of 
the  life  around  her.  She  seldom  left  the  upper 
part  of  New  York.  Sometimes  she  looked  down 
the  narrower  streets,  anxiously  and  inquiringly. 
She  saw  along  the  sidewalks,  poor,  thinly  dressed 
girls,  who  reminded  her  of  herself  as  she  was 
many  years  ago.  She  had  started  when  she  first 
met  some  of  them  when  she  walked  in  Broadway. 
It  had  needed  that  she  should  turn  round  to  a 
broad  window  at  her  side  to  recall  to  herself  that 
she  was  not  one  of  them,  but  that  the  decently 
dressed,  sober-looking  figure  reflected  there  was 
herself.  She  found  herself  almost  dreading  that 
Janet  should  meet  her  in  some  of  the  streets,  while 
she  was  walking  with  the  respectable-looking  ser 
vants  of  Mr.  Strange's  establishment,  and  feared 
that  she  should  be  ashamed  tq  acknowledge  her  if 
she  did  meet  her. 


266  STRUGGLE  FOR  LIFE. 

,  x 

Mrs.  Strange  had  been  received  warmly  and 
kindly  by  her  husband's  family.  She  was  sur 
rounded  with  all  the  luxury  of  woe,  and  all  the 
attention  that  her  widowed  state  required.  But 
she  was  as  restless  here  as  in  Langdale.  Fer 
children  gave  her  no  occupation  nor  pleasure,  for 
she  did  not  allow  them  to  give  her  any  care. 
Ronald  came  to  her  every  day  before  he  went  out, 
that  she  might  see  that  his  rosettes  and  ribbons 
were  properly  adjusted,  and  then  he  was  displayed 
again  at  dinner-time.  "  He  looks  so  like  his  fa 
ther,"  Mrs.  Strange  would  say  to  her  friends,  "that 
it  brings  up  most  harrowing  recollections  to  have 
him  with  me." 

Elise  was  an  hour  or  two  a  day  with  her  mamma. 
She  could  say  a  few  words,  half  French  and  half 
Italian,  that  entertained  her  and  her  friends.  Her 
toilet,  too,  was  perfect,  her  dress  always  exquisite, 
and  a  fruitful  subject  for  admiration  and  discussion. 
Elise  had  already  learned  to  cast  down  her  eyes,  to 
turn  aside  her  head  when  her  dress  or  herself  were 
admired,  and  she  knew  perfectly  how  to  keep  in 
order  her  embroidered  ruffles  and  streamers  of  rib 
bon.  When  the  children's  dresses  had  all  been 
displayed,  and  the  bijouterie  that  she  had  selected 
and  brought  home  with  her  had  been  sufficiently 
admired,  Mrs.  Strange  grew  tired  of  her  New  York 
relations,  and  very  gladly  consented  to  the  pro 
posal  of  some  friends  she  had  met  in  her  travels, 
to  join  them  at  Niagara,  and  go  from  there  to 
Montreal  with  them. 


THE   WHIRL    OF   WATERS.  267 

The  French  maid  was  charmed  with  the  pros 
pect  of  finding  somebody  to  talk  French  with  in 
Canada,  as  she  wearied  a  little  of  the  society  of 
her  mistress,  and  found  Hannah  a  little  impracti 
cable.  Hannah,  too,  was  glad  to  be  travelling 
again.  It  was  with  the  hope  of  seeing  the  world 
that  she  had  entered  into  Mrs.  Strange's  service. 
The  little  Ronald,  however,  and  herself,  were  firm 
friends.  She  went  with  him  every  day  to  the 
pretty  squares,  and  was  proud  of  all  the  attentions 
that  were  paid  him.  He  was  always  good-natured 
with  Hannah,  and  slept  well  and  eat  well.  He 
refused  to  let  any  one  else  care  for  him,  so  Hannah 
had  the  almost  constant  charge  of  him. 

They  arrived  late  at  night  at  Niagara.  Mrs. 
Strange  found  her  friends  awaiting  her.  All  the 
evening  they  talked  over  her  trials,  her  sad  afflic 
tion  in  Florence.  Elise  and  Ronald  were  shown 
off. 

"  What  a  sad  responsibility !  What  a  terrible 
charge  ! "  they  all  exclaimed. 

The  next  day,  Mrs.  Strange,  with  her  friends, 
went  round  in  a  carriage  to  see  what  was  to  be 
seen.  In  the  afternoon,  Adele  left  Elise  in  Han 
nah's  care.  She  wanted  to  go  and  see  the  won 
derful  falls  herself,  and  went  off  with  a  gay  party 
of  the  servants  she  had  picked  up.  Hannah  had 
no  chance  all  day  to  leave  the  rooms  that  were 
allotted  to  them.  The  roar  of  the  waters  sounded 
in  her  ears,  the  doors  and  the  windows  shook  in 


2G8  STRUGGLE   FOB  LIFE. 

their  fall,  but  the  windows  commanded  only  the 
village  street,  and  she  could  see  nothing  but  the 
different  parties  setting  off  from  the  door  of  the 
hotel. 

In  the  evening,  Mrs.  Strange  had  Ronald  brought 
into,  her  parlor.  Elise  was  talkative  and  noisy, 
and  she  was  afraid  Ronald  would  not  sleep  in  the 
same  room.  Hannah  sat  by  him  as  he  slept  on  a 
couch  in  a  distant  corner.  He  could  not  be  dis 
turbed  by  the  subdued  conversation  that  was 
going  on  between  Mrs.  Strange  and  her  friends. 
Hannah,  at  first,  did  not  pay  any  attention  to  this 
conversation.  She  sat  with  her  knitting  by  the 
sleeping  Ronald,  thinking  of  the  great  roar  that 
was  all  the  time  sounding  in  her  ears.  At  last 
she  was  attracted  by  the  words  of  one  of  the 
gentlemen.  He  was  more  animated  than  the  rest, 
and  had  been  a  great  traveller.  He  had  been 
talking  ofi  San  Francisco. 

"  I  suppose  everybody  gets  along  in  California?" 
said  one  of  the  ladies  present.  "  What  an  excel 
lent  place  it  is  for  all  the  scapegraces  and  ne'er-do- 
wells  to  go  to." 

"  That's  a  pleasant  picture  of  society  there," 
said  Mr.  Jones,  laughing.  "  But  it  is  only  the 
most  spirited  that  manage  to  reach  there,  or  to  get 
along  after  they  have  reached  there.  There  was  a 
little  Irish  fellow  I  was  interested  in,  went  out  in  the 
same  ship  with  us  when  I  went  some  years  ago.  He 
got  on  board  nobody  knew  how,  and  the  captain 


THE  WHIRL   OF  WATERS.  269 

could  not  throw  him  overboard.  He  raised  the  inter 
est  of  some  of  the  passengers.  My  friend  Smith  was 
struck  with  the  mixture  of  foolhardiness  and  cour 
age  there  was  in  the  boy,  and  he  helped  him  along 
after  he  reached  San  Francisco.  The  captain  had 
threatened  to  put  him  on  shore  at  Aspinwall,  but 
by  the  time  we  reached  there,  Steevie  was  quite  a 
favorite  with  the  passengers  and  they  would  not 
let  him  go." 

Hannah  had  been  listening  attentively  to  Mr. 
Jones's  words,  and  now  she  came  across  the  room. 

"  Oh,  tell  me  what  was  his  name ! "  she  ex 
claimed. 

"  Hannah,  what  are  you  thinking  of?  what  do 
you  mean?  "  said  Mrs.  Strange. 

"I  know  I  ought  not  to  speak  to  Mr.  Jones," 
said  Hannah ;  "  but  perhaps  he  is  my  brother.  I 
mean  the  boy.  Oh,  sir,  will  you  tell  me  his  name, 
and  how  long  ago  it  was?" 

"  Hannah,  you  surprise  me,"  said  Mrs.  Strange, 
"  to  interrupt  Mr.  Jones  in  this  way!" 

"  Never  mind,  Mrs.  Strange,"  said  Mr.  Jones.  "  I 
remember  his  name,  because  we  used  to  laugh  at 
John  O'Connor  about  him,  and  tell  him  he  ought  to 
support  his  own  relations,  and  that  they  probably 
came  from  the  same  place  in  Ireland.  John  O'Con 
nor  was  a  young  Irishman  that  we  thought  every 
thing  of;  he  was  rich  and  jolly  and  young." 

"Then  it  was  Stephen  O'Connor?"  interrupted 
Hannah.  "  Tell  me  about  him.  When  did  he  go 
to  California?  Is  he  there  now?" 


270  STRUGGLE   FOR  LIFE. 

"  My  poor  girl,"  said  Mr.  Jones,  "  it  was  so  long 
ago  !  I  should  be  very  glad  to  give  you  his  his 
tory.  Smith  took  a  fancy  to  him  and  got  him  some 
work  in  California,  but  Stephen  was  forever  falling 
into  scrapes  and  tumbling  out  again.  Smith  kept 
an  eye  on  him.  I  saw  him  a  year  ago  and  asked 
him  about  it.  I  think  he  said  Stephen  had  gone 
up  to  the  mines,  or  to  Australia." 

"  Oh,  how  long  ago  ?  When  did  he  go  ?  "  said 
Hannah. 

"  Let  me  see.  It  was  the  spring  of "  said 

Mr.  Jones.  "  I  should  say  five  or  six  years  ago. 
I  can't  remember  which,  but  then  it  was  a  year 
ago  I  met  Smith,  and  he  had  lost  sight  of  Stephen 
then." 

"  But  wouldn't  he  know?  wouldn't  he  hear  from 
him?"  asked  Hannah. 

"What,  Smith?"  asked  Mr.  Jones.  "There 
would  be  no  hope  of  finding  Smith.  He  turns  up 
now  and  then,  but  nobody  ever  knows  where  he 
keeps  himself." 

"  He  sinks  into  the  sea  of  Smiths,  I  suppose," 
said  one  of  the  ladies. 

"  Then  there  is  no  hope,"  said  Hannah.  "'Ste 
phen  is  lost  again." 

One  of  the  gentlemen  tried  to  comfort  her  by 
telling  her  he  would  come  home  again,  very  likely, 
after  he  had  made  his  fortune. 

"  Well,  now,  1  think  it  is  only  your  bad  pennies 
that  turn  up  again,"  said  another. 


THE   WHIRL    OP    WATERS.  271 

Hannah  returned  to  her  corner,  and  later  in  the 
evening  she  had  permission  to  go  out.  It  was  late 
and  dark.  She  wandered  into  the  street.  She  fol 
lowed  where  the  noise  of  the  Falls  led  her,  though 
she  was  so  full  of  other  thoughts  that  she  forgot 
entirely  where  she  was.  She  hurried  along  a 
pathway  under  the  trees.  The  sound  of  the  roar 
was  nearer  and  nearer ;  at  length,  she  stood  on  its 
very  edge,  just  where  the  great  ocean-like  mass  of 
waters  plunges  itself  into  the  broad,  deep  basin 
below.  The  sky  was  heavily  clouded,  but  a  white 
mist  rose  up  to  show  the  deep  precipice  of  waters. 
Hannah  stood,  confused,  bewildered,  before,  in  the 
midst  of  the  heavy  tumult.  Suddenly  the  black 
sky  was  cleft,  the  broad,  clear  light  of  the  moon 
broke  through  and  made  clear  the  wonderful  sea 
of  waters  that  lay  below. 

Hannah  had  hastened  on  in  a  tumult  of  passion 
and  excitement.  Within  her  a  perfect  tempest 
was  raging.  The  coldness,  the  heartlessness? 
the  thoughtlessness  with  which  she  had  lately 
been  treated,  filled  up  and  were  exaggerated 
in  her  thoughts.  They  were  sitting  there  all 
so  comfortably ;  they  had  been  talking  of  their 
journeyings,  and  their  plans  were  arranged  to 
give  themselves  excitement  and  pleasure.  They 
had  bemoaned  over  Mrs.  Strange's  great  loss; 
they  had  exclaimed  so  loudly  over  their  own  joy  at 
meeting  again.  All  the  time  they  had  never  given 
one  thought  of  sympathy  for  the  silent  girl  in  the 


272  STRUGGLE   FOR   LIFE. 

corner  of  the  room.  Hannah  had  not  expected 
they  would.  She  had  thought  it  a  little  hard  that 
Mrs.  Strange  had  not  remembered  that  the  nursery 
maid  might  have  heard  of  Niagara  Falls  and  had 
never  seen  them.  She  claimed  nothing  more. 

But  she  was  aroused  at  the  cold  way  in  which 
her  excited  questionings  had  been  received.  She 
had  a  right  to  a  brother  and  to  love  him,  even  if 
she  had  no  right  to  admire  what  was  wonderful 
in  nature.  This  Mr.  Jones,  if  he  had  had'  any 
feeling,  might  have  told  her  more  of  her  brother, 
might  have  given  her  hope  of  finding  him.  But 
she  was  nothing  to  them.  A  poor  straw  upon  the 
waters,  and  it  was  no  matter  where  she  floated. 
They  had  returned  to  gossip  about  the  fashions, 
and  her  brother,  her  only  brother  was  lost  again. 
He  was  always  falling  into  scrapes,  Mr.  Jones  had 
said ;  then  perhaps  he  was  doubly  lost.  What 
could  she  do  for  him  ?  Nothing.  What  was  there 
left  for  her  to  live  for  ?  But  the  great  thunder  of 
the  waters  woke  her  out  of  her  passion.  The 
tumult  and  the  rush,  the  whirl  of  the  waves  stilled 
the  tempest  in  her  breast.  She  stood  in  a  pres 
ence  of  great  majesty.  Her  own  self  became 
small  before  the  wonderful  scene  around  her.  It 
was  greater  than  her  eye  or  thought  could  take  in, 
and  so  she  stood  confounded  before  it. 

A  long  time  she  stood  there,  motionless,  fasci 
nated  by  the  never-ending  motion  before  her.  She 
forgot  herself  and  her  own  cares  in  the  presence 
of  One  great  being. 


THE  WHIRL    OF   WATERS.  273 

"  The  waters  stood  above  the  mountains.  At 
his  rebuke  they  fled ;  at  the  voice  of  his  thunder 
they  hasted  away." 

On  her  way  there,  she  had  thought  to  herself, 
as  she  heard  the  roaring  and  the  rushing  around 
her,  she  had  groaned  to  herself,  "  If  it  could  only 
bear  me  away  too ;  if  it  could  hurry  me  on  into  its 
immense  abyss.  I  am  small,  I  am  nothing ;  what 
matters  it  if  I  am  swept  away  ?  My  cry  will  not 
be  heard  in  the  midst  of  the  great  tumult ! "  But 
now  she  stood  checked  and  silenced.  It  was  the 
voice  of  God  in  the  great  waters  that  spoke  to  her 
and  calmed  her.  The  moon  shone  clearly  on  the 
mass  of  water  that  went  to  whirl  itself  below,  and 
lighted  up,  too,  the  glistening  spray  that  danced 
above  it.  Her  soul  stood  terrified,  as  it  were,  in 
the  presence  of  God.  She  shrank  before  the 
abyss  that  had  opened  in  her  own  spirit,  at  the 
same  time  her  heart  throbbed  to  remember  she 
was  the  child  of  God,  watched  over  by  him,  as 
was  the  single  drop  of  spray  among  the  great 
waters. 

She  turned  homewards,  and  the  mighty  sound 
that  had  seemed  to  her  despairing,  revengeful, 
now  rung  in  her  ears  like  the  organ  notes  of  a 
grand  psalm,  that  is  claiming  and  praying  for  the 
return  of  a  soul  to  God ! 
18 


CHAPTER     XXXII. 

THE   RIVER'S    BANK. 

THE  next  morning  Mrs.  Strange  decided  she 
would  leave  Niagara.  The  noise  of  the  Falls  had 
kept  her  awake  all  night,  and  made  her  nervous. 
She  knew  she  should  not  be  able  to  sleep  a  wink  as 
long  as  she  remained  there.  Her  friends  had  been 
some  days  at  Niagara,  and  were  willing  to  leave, 
'and  were  urgent  that  Mrs.  Strange  should  come 
directly  to  their  home  just  out  of  Montreal.  It 
had  been  determined  that  when  Mrs.  Strange  went 
there,  she  should  send  the  children  to  her  mother- 
in-law,  who  was  by  this  time  at  her  country  seat  on 
the  Hudson. 

At  noon,  then,  the  very  day  after  her  arrival, 
Hannah  found  herself  leaving  Niagara  Falls  with 
little  Ronald  under  her  charge,  Elise  and  Adele, 
and  Mrs.  Strange's  trusty  man-servant.  She  had 
been  so  busily  employed  in  repacking,  in  all  Mrs. 
Strange's  different  requirements,  that  she  had  been 
allowed  no  opportunity  to  leave  the  hotel.  Mrs. 
Strange  sent  away  the  children,  expecting  to  meet 
them  again  in  a  few  weeks.  She  had  brought 


THE  RIVER'S  BANK.  275 

them  with  her  to  show  them  to  her  friends, — that 
they  might  see  how  Elise  had  preserved  the  French 
accent  in  the  few  words  she  could  say,  during  the 
few  weeks  she  had  been  at  home,  and  how  Ronald's 
hair  was  beginning  to  curl. 

Adele,  for  want  of  her  mistress  to  converse  with, 
made  some  efforts  at  talk  with  Hannah,  and  the 
journey  was  quickly  accomplished. 

The  house  of  old  Mrs.  Strange  was  beautifully 
situated  on  the  banks  of  the  Hudson.  It  was  a 
large  house,  stretching  across  a  broad  lawn.  In 
the  summer  it  was  the  home  of  any  of  the  children 
and  grandchildren  that  chose  to  come  there ;  so 
beneath  its  roof  were  collected  several  families  of 
young  people  and  children,  with  maids  and  nurses. 
These  were  left  to  take  care  of  themselves,  —  to 
do  as  they  pleased ;  the  children  played  in  the 
grounds,  or  in  the  broad  hall ;  the  young  people 
wandered  in  the  garden,  or  made  excursions 
through  the  country  round.  Their  elders  met  in 
the  library,  or  took  sober  drives  to  visit  their 
neighbors.  Below  the  house,  not  far  from  its 
balconied  front,  stretched  the  Hudson, — behind,  was 
a  line  of  hills  of  the  Catskill  range.  Everything 
was  comfortable  and  luxurious  about  the  house. 
There  were  easy  lounges  in  the  airy  summer  rooms 
and  in  the  cosy  library,  and  in  the  stables  there 
were  horses  and  carriages  for  those  who  wished  to 
ride  or  drive.  It  was  a  haven  of  rest  for  Hannah 
even.  A  rest  for  her  body,  but  her  thoughts  were 
full  of  uneasiness. 


276  STRUGGLE   FOR   LIFE. 

The  night  that  she  heard  news  of  Stephen  at 
Niagara,  all  her  old  passions  had  been  roused  and 
excited.  She  was  filled  with  hatred  and  distrust 
of  all  the  rest  of  the  world.  Even  for  a  moment 
she  had  believed  she  would  gladly  leave  it,  since 
it  was  so  cold,  so  harsh,  so  cruel  to  her.  In  the 
midst  of  this  mood  she  had  stood  beside  the  torrent 
of  Niagara,  and  its  wild  tumult  had  hushed  for 
a  little  while  the  passion  within  her ;  it  had 
brought  gentler  thoughts  back  to  her  soul ;  it  had 
reminded  her  of  one  great  Protector,  because  it 
had  filled  her  with  an  awe  that  had  driven  her  to 
him  alone  for  protection.  That  night,  as  she  tried 
to  sleep  in  the  midst  of  the  great  roar  of  the 
waters,  gentle  sounds  had  mingled  with  her 
dreams.  She  fancied  she  heard  Bertha's  voice, — 
she  recalled  her  soothing  tones.  She  was  con 
scious  of  a  spiritual  help,  such  as  Bertha's  faith 
had  taught  her  of  already,  and  that  came  to  uphold 
her  now. 

But  for  poor  Hannah  these  were  high  and  great 
visions.  She  could  not  strain  herself  up  to  rest  in 
them.  The  little  vain  trifling  talk  that  Adele  kept 
up  with  her,  brought  her  down  from  the  higher 
feelings  that  might  sustain  her.  What  right  had 
she,  a  poor,  abused,  unconsidered  servant-girl,  to 
nourish  such  thoughts  as  these  ?  She  listened  to 
the  little  squabbles  and  jealous  quarrels  that  Adele 
confided  to  her,  that  she  was  carrying  on  with  the 
servants,  and  found  her  own  jealousies  and  dis 
trusts  nourished  as  she  listened. 


THE    RIVER'S   BANK.  277 

The  children  were  received  with  warm  pleasure 
by  their  grandmother  and  the  rest  of  the  family. 
Hannah  found  that  her  charge  was  taken  very 
much  out  of  her  hands.  His  little  cousins  Alice 
and  Lily  took  a  fancy  to  Ronald.  They  were 
about  twelve  and  fourteen  years  old,  always 
together,  and  alike  in  their  tastes.  Whatever  one 
did,  the  other  must  do  also.  They  could  not  rest 
without  having  Ronald  to  play  with.  On  the 
pleasant  days,  they  would  take  him  out  upon  the 
lawn.  Hannah  was  made  to  sit  under  the  trees 
while  they  had  a  lively  frolic  with  him.  Then, 
whenever  they  went  to  drive,  Hannah  must  take 
Ronald  with  them.  He  was  such  a  good-natured 
little  fellow,  and  laughed  whenever  they  shook 
their  curls  at  him. 

Elise  was  a  pet  of  the  older  girls.  They  were 
fond  of  making  her  mimic  young-lady  airs  and 
graces,  and  she  was  a  very  apt  scholar,  and  liked 
nothing  better  than  to  be  praised  and  laughed  at 
for  her  bright  sayings.  The  French  words  coming 
out  from  her  little  mouth  sounded  so  charmingly, 
and  then  they  had  such  an  excellent  opportunity 
to  talk  French  with  the  nurse !  Ronald  was 
charmed  with  the  attention  he  received.  On  rainy 
days  he  would  walk  up  and  down  the  hall  with 
Hannah,  and  Alice  and  Lily  would  play  hide  and 
seek  with  him  behind  the  statuary  that  stood 
there.  It  was  a  grand  hall  that  went  through  the 
house,  and  Ronald  and  Hannah  both  admired  much 


278  STRUGGLE   FOR  LIFE. 

the  marble  figures  with  which  it  was  adorned. 
They  liked  best  the  little  Cupid  on  the  Dolphin, 
and  Hannah  held  Ronald  in  her  arms  to  look  at  it 
again  and  again.  Sometimes  they  ventured  into 
the  conservatory,  but  not  often,  for  if  the  gardener 
was  there  he  scolded  them  away.  He  did  not  like 
to  have  the  children  there,  —  they  broke  off  the 
flowers,  or  perhaps  even  knocked  down  the  pots. 

Everywhere  else  Hannah,  with  Ronald  in  her 
arms,  was  welcomed.  Grandpapa  Strange  laid 
down  his  book  if  they  came  into  the  library,  and 
took  off  his  spectacles  to  look  at  Ronald,  and  then 
would  lift  him  on  his  knee  awhile,  but  give  him 
back  to  Hannah  with  a  sigh,  ''  He  looks  so  like  his 
father,  as  he  was,  so  many  years  ago." 

And  in  the  drawing-room  they  compared  the 
hearty,  rosy  Ronald  with  the  delicate,  dainty  little 
Elise,  and  the  girls  were  quite  willing  he  should 
pull  down  their  hair,  he  was  such  a  handsome  little 
darling. 

One  day,  after  a  noisy  play  with  Ronald  on  the 
lawn,  Alice  came  near  where  Hannah  was  sitting, 
and  threw  herself  all  out  of  breath  on  the  grass  by 
her  side. 

"  Don't  you  think  this  is  a  pretty  place?"  she 
asked  of  Hannah,  as  soon  as  she  could  recover  her 
self;  "  isn't  this  a  pretty  place  ?  I  wish  we  had  at 
home  such  a  wide  laAvn.  We  have  only  a  little  bit 
of  a  garden,  and  the  walks  in  it  are  so  narrow  that 
I  can't  run  through  it,  or  my  skirts  will  knock  off 


THE  RIVER'S  BAXK.  279 

the  heads  of  the  tulips.  But  it  is  sucli  a  fine  place 
here  !  Don't  you  think  so,  Hannah  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Miss  Alice,"  said  Hannah.  "  I  never  saw 
such  a  beautiful  place." 

"  And  don't  you  like  to  be  here  ?  "  asked  Alice. 

"  I  like  to  be  with  Master  Ronald,"  said  Hannah. 

"But  don't  you  like  to  be  here?"  persisted 
Alice.  "  Do  you  want  to  go  anywhere  else  ?  You 
look  tired  always ;  you  look  as  if  you  Avanted  some 
thing  else." 

"  Do  I  look  tired  ?  "  asked  Hannah.  "  Everybody 
says  so ;  I  don't  know  why  they  look  at  me." 

"  I  don't  suppose  they  do  look  much,"  said  Alice; 
u  only  I  was  wondering  if  it  was  so  very  tiresome 
to  take  care  of  Ronald.  Now  I  think  I  should  like 
to  take  care  of  him  all  day." 

"  Master  Ronald  isn't  any  care,"  said  Hannah. 
•''  He  isn't  enough  care." 

"  Why,  I  shouldn't  want  any  more,"  said  Alice. 
"He  is  such  a  little  plaything, — just  enough  to 
take  up  all  one's  time.  Perhaps  you  don't  like  to 
have  us  take  him  away  from  you." 

"  Oh  no,  Miss  Alice,"  said  Hannah.  "  I  like  to 
see  you  playing  with  him,  and  very  often  it  makes 
me  forget  all  about  myself." 

"  Oh,  you  have  unpleasant  things  to  think  of 
then,"  suggested  Alice.  "  I  suppose  people  do,  as 
they  grow  up.  Sometimes  when  I  go  to  ask 
mamma  something,  she  says,  '  Don't  worry  me,  I'm 
thinking.'  But  I  shouldn't  imagine  any  one  could 
worry  here." 


280  STRUGGLE   FOR  LIFE. 

Hannah  did  not  reply  to  this. 

"  Perhaps,"  Alice  went  on,  "  you  have  been  un 
happy  in  your  former  life.  Oh,  I  wish  you  would 
tell  me  all  about  it.  I  like  to  read  about  people 
who  have  had  a  former  life,  who  have  suffered 
much  through  their  early  days,  and  then  something 
turns  up  that  makes  it  all  very  happy  for  them." 

"  I  have  had  kind  friends  who  have  kept  me 
from  suffering,"  said  Hannah. 

"  Did  you  leave  an  old  father  in  Ireland  ?  "  said 
Alice.  "  Did  he  send  you  here  to  try  your 
fortune  ?  " 

"  I  had  a  brother  that  I  loved,  Miss  Alice,"  said 
Hannah,  at  last,  "and  he  went  away  to  try  his 
fortune,  and  I  think  I  shall  never  see  him  again." 

"  And  hasn't  he  written  to  you  ? "  said  Alice ; 
"  and  don't  you  think  he'll  come  home  sometime 
with  a  very  magnificent  fortune  ?  Oh,  I  shouldn't 
think  you  would  be  tired,  thinking  and  wondering 
and  fancying  what  has  become  of  him,  and  how  he 
will  come  home." 

"  Perhaps  he  never  will  come  home,"  sighed 
Hannah. 

Lily  came  running  up  with  Ronald  in  her  arms. 
There  was  a  summons  into  the  house.  It  was  time 
to  dress  for  dinner.  All  through  the  rest  of 
Hannah's  stay,  however,  Alice  pleased  herself  with 
talking  with  Hannah  about  what  had  become  of 
her  brother.  She  was  pleased  to  know  something 
that  the  rest  of  the  family  had  never  heard  of,  so 


THE    RIVER'S   BANK.  281 

she  kept  Hannah's  confidence  all  to  herself.  She 
raised  wild  speculations,  and  asked  of  Hannah  a 
great  many  questions.  She  was  very  sure  she 
should  meet  with  Stephen  herself  in  some  very 
romantic  way,  and  then  she  would  befriend  him 
and  speak  to  him  of  Hannah  and  send  him  home  to 
her. 

"  Oh,  Miss  Alice,"  said  Hannah,  once,  "  I  am 
tired  of  thinking  of  that.  I  have  been  over  and 
over  it  again,  a  great  many  times,  and  have  planned 
in  my  mind  many  ways  in  which  I  should  see  him ; 
and  I  have  wondered  how  I  should  meet  him,  till  I 
have  begun  to  fear  to  see  him  again  !  " 

JVfrs.  Strange  returned  from  her  visit  to  Montreal 
and  took  her  place  in  the  family  circle.  Hannah 
perceived  that  she  did  not  bring  much  pleasure 
there.  She  showed  no  sympathy  for  her  cousins 
and  nieces,  or  sisters-in-law.  Even  old  Mr.  Strange 
could  not  interest  her  in  anything.  Everybody 
was  very  attentive  and  kind  to  her,  but  she  was 
not  satisfied  with  any  attention  or  kindness.  She 
did  not  care  for  the  books  they  were  reading,  nor 
admire  the  collars  they  were  embroidering.  She 
was  listless,  and  expressed  no  pleasure  in  the 
beauty  of  the  scenery.  It  dazzled  her  eyes  to  see 
the  sunlight  on  the  water,  and  she  thought  the 
sight  of  the  mountains  was  gloomy  and  dismal. 
They  reminded  her  of  that  sad  winter  she  had 
been  passing.  She  drew  down  the  curtains  over 
the  windows,  and  shut  out  the  sunlight  and  the 


282  STRUGGLE   FOR  LIFE. 

view,  and  then  she  had  no  power  to  make  any  sun 
light  within. 

She  objected  to  Ronald's  playing  so  much  with 
Alice  and  Lily.  She  was  very  sure  some  accident 
would  happen  if  he  was  left  so  much  with  those 
wild  girls.  It  was  Hannah's  business  to  take  care 
of  him.  She  was  quiet  and  steady,  and  Mrs. 
Strange  decidedly  prohibited  his  constant  frolics 
with  the  others.  Ronald  did  not  like  being 
restrained,  nor  to  return  to  Hannah's  sober  society 
after  he  had  tasted  something  more  cheerful. 
Poor  Hannah  had  trouble  in  keeping  him  quiet, 
while  Alice  and  Lily  were  obliged  to  find  amuse 
ment  somewhere  else,  and  set  off  on  long  expedi 
tions  with  their  uncles  into  the  mountains. 

But  Mrs.  Strange  could  not  decide  to  spend  the 
summer  here  ;  she  determined  to  go  back  to  Lang- 
dale.  Ronald  had  a  violent  fit  of  crying,  because  he 
did  not  wish  to  go  away.  His  mother  did  not  listen 
to  him,  but  with  her  whole  family  went  down  on 
one  afternoon  in  the  boat  to  New  York,  and  stayed 
there  a  few  days  before  returning  to  Laugda!e. 


CHAPTER    XXXIII. 

THE   OLD   HAUNTS. 

EARLY  in  the  morning  they  reached  Langdale. 
Hannah  was  kept  busy  over  the  trunks  and  with 
Ronald  till  the  afternoon,  when  she  asked  Mrs. 
Strange  if  she  could  spare  her  for  a  little  while. 

"  You  look  tired,"  said  Mrs.  Strange,  for  once 
observing  Hannah's  appearance,  "  and  I  suppose 
you  would  like  to  go  and  see  Miss  Elspeth.  You 
shall  have  the  afternoon  to  rest  yourself,  and  Mary 
shall  take  care  of  Ronald." 

Hannah  did  look  worn  and  anxious.  She 
dressed  herself,  took  a  hurried  good-by  of  Ro 
nald,  and  went  into  the  street.  Here  she  stopped 
and  looked  up  and  down,  as  she  used  to  do  in  the 
early  days  when  she  first  went  to  Langdale.  As 
she  looked  up  the  street,  she  could  see  just  beyond 
the  row  of  trees  that  stretched  along  the  sidewalk, 
the  gate  that  led  to  Miss  Elspeth's  house.  As  she 
looked  down,  she  saw  the  curve  shut  in  by  the 
drooping  branches  of  the  elms,  that  always  closed 
the  prospect  there. 

She    turned    her   steps   down    the   street,   and 


284  STRUGGLE   FOE   LIFE. 

passed  the  little  grocery  shop,  and  the  tavern,  and 
went  out  of  the  village.  Farther  than  this  she 
had  never  walked  before.  She  had  never  been  in 
Boston  since  the  day  she  drove  away  from  it  with 
Miss  Dora  and  Frank.  For  the  first  year  or  two 
Miss  Elspeth  had  purposely  kept  her  from  going 
there,  as  she  wanted  to  break  up  her  associations 
with  the  place,  and  afterwards  the  family  wants 
from  there  had  been  so  small,  that  Miss  Elspeth 
could  always  supply  them  herself.  So,  for  the  first 
time,  Hannah  trod  the  road  that  had  seemed  so 
long  to  her  six  years  before.  Now  she  hurried 
along  it,  and  as  she  passed  on  and  drew  nearer 
Boston,  the  way  grew  more  and  more  familiar. 
She  recognized  some  of  the  large  houses,  to 
which  broad  avenues  led,  that  had  seemed  to  her 
like  palaces  when  she  passed  them  before.  She 
remembered  the  different  places  Frank  had  pointed 
out  to  Bessie  to  amuse  her.  As  she  walked  on  she 
came  to  the  long  ropewalk  that  had  astonished 
Bessie,  and  she  had  asked  Frank  what  it  was,  and 
if  a  ropewalk  were  anything  like  a  sidewalk.  Bos 
ton  rose  up  before  her.  The  brick  houses  shutting 
in  the  narrow  streets,  towering  up  and  crowned 
by  the  dome  of  the  State  House.  She  saw  the 
water  again,  and  the  many  bridges  stretching 
across  it,  over  which  she  used  to  wander  so  long 
ago.  She  hastened  along  so  fast  that  she  was  sur 
prised  to  find  it  so  near.  "  Has  it  always  been  so 
near  to  me?"  she  exclaimed  to  herself.  In  her 


THE    OLD    HAUNTS.  285 

hurry  and  excitement  she  felt  no  fatigue,  and 
pressed  on  more  and  more  ardently.  Just  as  she 
entered  upon  the  dusty  streets,  a  little  girl  touched 
her.  "  Will  you  give  me  a  cent,  ma'am?"  she 
asked.  Hannah  did  not  venture  to  look  at  her. 
She  dared  not  see  this  image  of  herself  as  she 
once  was.  She  pushed  by  and  went  on.  She 
crossed  the  Common,  that  seemed  little  changed^ 
though  she  hardly  cast  her  eyes  around.  There 
were  children  playing  there,  who  looked  as  the 
children  did  there  six  years  ago.  An  apple-woman 
sat  beneath  a  tree.  Hannah  could  not  help  observ 
ing  her.  "  Is  that  old  Mrs.  Grundy  sitting  there 
still  and  looking  just  the  same,  sewing  on  the  same 
work,  with  one  eye  still  upon  her  apples  ?  Mrs. 
Grundy,  they  used  to  say,  was  rich,  and  had  saved 
up*  money  in  the  bank,  or  somewhere.  She  saved 
it  so  that  Jem  might  be  taught  book-learning. 
Where  is  Jem  now  ?  He  never  liked  anything  so 
well  as  playing  marbles  in  the  streets.  And  poor 
Mrs.  Grundy  sits  there  still,  sewing  on  the  coarse, 
blue  pantaloons."  But  Hannah  did  not  stop  here. 
She  even  walked  on  faster.  She  would  not  have 
Mrs.  Grundy  see  her  and  recognize  her.  So  she 
hurried  on  till  the  streets  grew  narrower  and  nar 
rower.  There  were  new  buildings  here  that 
almost  confused  her.  The  old  landmarks  were 
gone,  and  high  rows  of  stores,  with  broad-paned 
windows,  filled  with  brilliant  silks  and  ribbons, 
rose  up  where  before  were  old  wooden  houses, 


286  STEUGGLE   FOE   LIFE. 

that  Hannah  herself  used  to  frequent.  She 
turned  the  corner  of  one  of  these,  and  came  in. 
sight  of  the  entrance  to  Board  Court.  She  passed 
on  and  reached  the  very  corner,  and  looked  down 
the  little,  narrow  court.  There  everything  was 
quite  unchanged.  The  old  gates  in  front  of  the 
doorways  still  hung  loosely  on  their  hinges.  Old 
barrels  stood  along  in  front  of  the  houses.  Rub 
bish,  broken  baskets,  stoves,  laid  heaped  up,  all 
along  the  court.  There  were  groups  of  children, 
noisy  children,  that  were  quarrelling  there,  as  they 
used  to  do  long  ago.  There  were  women  hanging 
out  clothes  along  the  lines  spread  across  their 
door-yards.  They  were  talking  to  each  other  in 
loud  tones,  the  strains  of  which  sounded  familiar 
to  Hannah's  ears.  Two  boys  were  fighting  over 
the  broken  hoop  of  a  barrel,  and  a  dog  was  joining 
in  the  contest,  and  some  girls  were  struggling 
about  a  torn  straw  bonnet.  Yes,  it  was  all  familiar 
to  Hannah's  eyes  ;  the  sight  of  it  made  her  dizzy, 
the  sounds  stunned  her.  She  stood  a  moment 
fixed.  She  had  meant  to  go  down  there,  to 
have  inquired  about  the  people  that  u?ed  to  live 
there.  She  thought  some  of  them  might  tell  her 
news  of  Stephen.  She  had  a  vague  idea  that 
there  would  be  somebody  there  who  would  receive 
her  warmly  and  cordially.  She  remembered  that 
they  used  to  love  one  another  there,  and  she  came 
back  to  find  an  old  home-feeling  she  fancied  she 
could  meet  nowhere  else. 


THE   OLD    HAUNTS.  287 

But  she  stood  still,  shocked,  overwhelmed.  She 
had  thought  so  much  of  her  own  people,  of  her 
earlier  friends,  that  her  fancy~had  thrown  a  mist 
over  them  that  elevated  them  in  her  remembrance. 
At  one  moment  all  this  went  away.  At  one 
moment  she  saw  what  she  was,  in  comparison  with 
what  she  might  have  been.  She  saw,  coming 
towards  her,  a  girl  struggling  under  the  weight  of 
a  heavy  basket  of  chips.  It  was  just  so  she  used 
to  come  home  from  her  daily  wanderings.  It  pic 
tured  herself.  She  realized  it  now  more  than  she 
had  done  in  the  crowds  of  New  York.  Now  she 
stood  puzzled  between  the  Hannah  that  was,  and 
the  Hannah  of  seventeen  years  of  age,  standing 
there,  well-cared  for,  and  in  comfortable  dress ;  and 
within,  how  different ! 

The  thought  of  this  last  difference  made  her 
shudder  afresh.  She  suddenly  began  to  fear  she 
might  be  recognized,  might  be  drawn  back  into 
that  abyss..  For  she  suddenly  saw  how  she  her 
self  had  been  made  over ;  how  within  her  were 
new  standards  of  right  and  wrong,  such  as  she  had 
been  quite  unconscious  of  before ;  such  as  she 
was  partly  unconscious  of  now.  She  could  not 
now  say  to  herself,  I  believe  that  there  is  a  right 
and  wrong ;  that  it  is  my  duty  to  follow  in  the 
path  to  God ;,  she  did  not  know  this,  but  she  felt 
herself  shuddering  before  that  other  path. 

She  turned  away  quickly  ;  she  dreaded  lest  they 
should  know  her ;  lest  somehow  she  should  be 


288  STRUGGLE   FOR   LIFE. 

tempted  back  to  that  old  life  that  only  from  this 
moment  she  loathed.  Faster  than  she  Lad  come 
there,  if  possible,  she  hastened  away  ;  only  one 
thought  was  in  her  mind.  "  Miss  Elspeth,  Miss 
Elspeth  I  She  saved  me.  But  for  her,  I  should 
be  there  still  ;  or  where,  indeed,  should  I  be?" 

She  pressed  through  the  crowded  streets.  The 
high  houses  that  looked  down  upon  her  were 
crowded  too.  Those  just  around  her  had  ouco 
been  grand  mansions,  but  had  been  deserted  for 
more  fashionable  quarters,  and  were  given  over  to 
the  lowest  of  the  poor.  They  still  had  their 
stately  entrances,  and  iron  balconies,  and  stone 
facings  to  the  large  windows.  Within  were  high- 
storied  rooms,  ornamented  ceilings,  and  oak-carved 
balustrades.  Now  the  houses  swarmed  with  occu 
pants.  Each  room  held  its  family,  perhaps  more. 
Children  and  lounging  men  and  women  were 
crowded  out  upon  the  steps  and  staircase.  All  were 
struggling  for  life.  It  was  like  a  wild  field,  where 
the  native  plants  struggle  with  an  overgrowth 
from  alien  seeds,  for  daily  subsistence.  It  was  a 
struggle  for  mere  physical  life ;  for  the  food  of  the 
day ;  for  permission  to  breathe,  and  to  breathe  in 
an  air  that  seemed  to  choke  breath.  There  was 
little  room  for  a  struggle  for  spiritual  life. 

Two  women  leaned  together  from  a  window, 
looking  equally  old.  They  were  mother  and 
grandmother  of  the  child  looking  up  to  them  from 
below.  .  Their  faces  were  grimed  with  filth,  and 


THE   OLD   HAUNTS.  289 

worn  with  caro,  and  hardened  and  stolid  in  igno 
rance  and  brutality.  All  humanity  had  so  faded 
from  the  coarse,  repulsive  features,  that  one  would 
hesitate  to  call  them  women  still.  The  little  child 
beneath  looked  up  with  laughing  brown  eyes,  shak 
ing  joyfully  its  curls  of  golden  hair.  Its  cheeks 
were  hidden  in  dirt,  but  were  still  ruddy  and  fresh. 
It  was  a  picture  of  health,  and  heartiness  and  hap 
piness.  It  is  to  struggle  for  life,  as  those  two 
poor  women  have  done  before  it.  Must  it  be  only 
to  find  food  for  the  day,  losing  health  of  body  and 
soul  for  the  sake  only  of  food  and  raiment?  It  is  to 
struggle  with  the  crowding  humanity  around,  with 
weeds  and  tares,  while  its  own  growth  is  feeble 
and  unassisted.  Must  it  be  left  so?  Must  the 
child  harden  into  vice,  stunted  and  maimed,  when 
it  has  a  child's  hearty  claim  on  life,  life  physical 
and  life  spiritual,  —  the  claim  of  every  human 
being  ? 

Some  of  these  thoughts  and  questions  came  into 
Hannah's  mind  as  she  hurried  along.  She  was 
suddenly  conscious  that  she  had  been  transplanted 
from  a  close,  weedy,  unhealthy  ?oil,  into  food, 
and  air,  and  light.  Not  only  herself  had  been 
saved,  but  Bessie,  Martha,  and  Margie  had  been 
rescued.  For  suddenly  she  realized  what  a  down 
ward  path  there  lay  from  such  a  home  as  she  left 
behind.  There  was  love  and  kindness  there,  such 
as  she  fancied  she  had  been  longing  for  these 
many  years ;  but  there  came  before  her  the  mcm- 
19 


290  STEUGGLE  FOB  LIFE. 

ory  of  evil,  she  shuddered  to  think  how  alluring ; 
and  the  destitution  that  shuts  out  the  sight  of  all 
else  but  the  thought  of  supplying  daily  Avants; 
and  the  recklessness  that  cares  only  for  the  mo 
ment's  pleasure ;  and  loathsome  sights,  and  misery 
in  all  its  forms,  to  harden  the  feelings  or  drive  the 
heart  to  despair.  From  all  this  she  had  been 
saved,  snatched  away,  brought  into  a  higher  and 
lighter  atmosphere,  to  another  world. 

To  Hannah,  it  seemed  as  if  this  were  the  moment 
of  her  own  salvation,  because  for  the  first  time  she 
felt  utterty  grateful  to  Miss  Elspeth  for  all  she  had 
done.  Before,  she  had  wild,  ambitious,  vain  imag 
inings  ;  she  had  believed  that  if  only  Miss  Elspeth 
had  left  her  to  herself,  she  would  have  worked  out 
for  herself  some  greater  position  in  the  world. 
She  had  cherished  a  sullen  feeling  towards  Miss 
Elspeth  and  Amy.  She  thought  they  had  taken 
her  away  merely  to  make  her  work,  to  live  a  life 
of  labor.  While  she  had  been  with  Bertha,  her 
sullenness  had  been  cleared  aAvay,  the  darkness 
of  her  atmosphere  purified;  a  little  while  she  had 
been  raised  above  her  natural  range  of  thought. 
But  like  a  vision,  these  better  modes  of  mind  had 
lately  passed  away. 

The  last  few  weeks,  her  old  passions,  her  gloom 
iness  of  disposition,  had  returned  with  new  force. 
She  had  become  suspicious  of  her  old  friends,  dis 
trusting  those  who  were  near  her.  Travelling 
back  to  Langdale,  there  had  rushed  upon  her  a 


THE   OLD   HAUNTS.  291 

desire  to  return  to  her  old  home,  to  her  old  haunts, 
and  her  old  ways  of  life.  And  she  had  come  to 
Boston  with  the  firm  resolution  of  returning  to  live 
in  Board  Court.  If  she  found  there  one  of  her  old 
friends,  a  single  person  who  could  welcome  her, 
she  meant  to  stay  there.  She  would  live  as  they 
did,  and  make  her  home  with  them.  Miss  Elspeth, 
Amy,  Bessie,  Ronald,  she  could  leave  them  all 
behind,  as  once  she  had  left  Board  Court.  She 
was  older  now,  and  could  take  care  of  herself. 
She  would  live  independently,  free  of  others,  and 
not  subject  to'their  exactions. 

It  was  not  till  she  saw  the  old  place,  with  its 
desolation  hanging  round  it,  that  she  knew  just 
what  a  home  she  had  left  there.  It  was  not  till 
this  moment  she  realized  the  strength  of  the  new 
ties  that  bound  her.  She  hurried  back,  dizzy,  her 
head  confused  with  thought.  In  the  crowded 
streets  she  seemed  to  see  only  the  poor,  thinly 
dressed  girls.  At  all  the  street  corners  they 
seemed  to  appeal  to  her.  She  saw  them  clinging 
to  the  omnibus  steps,  seated  under  the  church 
porches,  coming  out  from  the  alley-ways.  Again, 
upon  the  bridge  she  was  asked  for  a  cent,  and 
emptied  the  contents  of  her  pocket  into  a  poor 
girl's  hand.  On  she  walked  until  she  was  quite 
out  of  town,  till  she  drew  near  Langdale.  Here 
she  left  the  road,  and  turning  into  a  little  wood  by 
the  wayside,  sat  down  in  a  sheltered  spot.  She 
hid  her  face  in  her  hands  and  wept  bitterly.  They 


292  STRUGGLE   FOR  LIFE. 

were  softening  tears,  they  broke  up  the  stoniness 
in  her  heart,  melted  the  ice  there.  For  once,  she 
thanked  God  heartily,  earnestly.  He  had  turned 
the  heart  of  Miss  Elspeth  towards  her,  and  that 
had  saved  her. 

fit  is  so  hard  to  melt  away  the  influences  of  an 
early  life,  to  counteract  all  the  lessons  of  the  first 
ten  years,  to  tear  up  the  weeds  that  are  early 
planted.  There  are  evil  inheritances  to  be  strug 
gled  with,  childish  prejudices  and  fancies  ban 
ished.^  It  requires  the  constant  care  of  a  warm 
love,  and  the  patience  that  comes  with  love,  and 
even  at  the  last  there  is  often  disappointment. 
For"  there  comes  often  a  moment  of  reaction,  such 
a  time  as  came  to  Hannah,  when  she  found  herself 
independent,  or  fancied  herself  so,  when  the  old 
life  came  upon  her,  almost  irresistible  with  its 
charm,  of  which  its  distance  formed  a  part.  At 
this  age  and  point  of  their  lives,  such  girls  as 
Hannah,  who  have  been  saved  so  far,  suddenly 
feel  a  right  to  choose  for  themselves  their  future 
life.  They  have  no  special  home  of  their  own,  like 
those  of  their  own  age  who  are  fortunate  enough 
to  have  mother,  father,  sister)  and  brothers  to  hold 
and  claim  them  ;  and  in  contrast,  a  life  of  indepen 
dence  looks  attractive  and  tempting  to  them. 
They  are  restless  under  restraint,  they  are  unwill 
ing  to  feel  grateful,  —  are  unconscious  that  they 
have  anything  to  be  grateful  for.  It  is  a  time  of 
contest.  The  struggle  comes  for  a  spiritual  life, 


THE   OLD    HAUNTS.  293 

and  upon  the  nature  of  the  influences  of  the  last 
few  years  will  depend  the  result.  It  is  not  enough 
to  have  kept  these  poor  ones  from  the  evil,  to  have 
sheltered  them  from  harm,  they  must  have  been 
brought  into  a  positive  love  of  the  good,  and  must 
be  held  still  and  restrained  by  the  powerful  arms 
of  love. 

It  would  be  hard  to  say  what  influences  were 
now  most  powerfully  working  upon  Hannah ;  what 
it  was  that  had  remade  and  regenerated  her. 
There*  was  Miss  Elspeth's  untiring  kindness  that 
had  never  looked  for  an  answering  glance ;  there 
was  Amy's  warm,  tender,  unvarying  interest ;  and 
there  were  the  pure  strong  words  of  Bertha  ;  —  all 
these  had  made  an  atmosphere  around  her  that 
had  elevated  her  above  early  clinging  habits,  that 
had  given  her  a  higher  tone  of  character,  which 
she  did  not  know  of,  till  a  sudden  glimpse  showed 
her  the  contrast  between  the  old  and  the  new. 
And  to  help  the  sharpness  of  this  contrast  came 
Miss  Dora's  obstinate  love  of  order  that  had,  one 
by  one,  weeded  out  the  unneat  habits  of  the  first 
years  of  Hannah's  life,  which  nothing  but  Miss 
Dora's  preciseness  and  attention  to  petty  detail 
could  have  destroyed. 

In  looking  down  Board  Court,  besides  the  hor 
ror  of  the  degrading  atmosphere  with  which  she 
suddenly  felt  it  was  surrounded,  Hannah  shrank 
from  its  filth  and  its  unthriftjness.  If  nothing  else 
had  kept  her  from  the  place,  the  sense  of  order 


294  STRUGGLE  FOR  LIFE. 

and  of  neatness  acquired  in  these  last  few  years 
would  have  kept  her  from  it.  Any  life,  a  life  of 
hardship  and  of  labor,  were  better  than  a  home  in 
such  squalor  and  discomfort. 

The  long  summer  afternoon  had  passed  away, 
and  the  sun  was  setting,  as  Hannah  lifted  her  face 
from  her  hands,  and  rose  to  go  back.  A  new 
sense  had  come  in  upon  her ;  her  first  thought  of 
gratitude.  With  it,  a  new  hope,  new  resolutions, 
even  plans  for  the  future.  It  was  no  vague  idea 
of  something  great  to  come  upon  her  that  ani 
mated  her,  but  something  that  she  was  herself  to 
do,  an  object  in  life. 


CHAPTER     XXXIV. 

A     MEETING. . 

As  Hannah  turned  into  Langdale,  at  a  meeting 
of  two  streets,  she  was  asked  a  question  about  the 
way,  by  some  one  who  was  passing  by.  Her  face 
was  bent  down,  so  she  had  not  observed  who  it 
was  that  spoke  to  her,  but  the  voice  roused  her. 
She  looked  up  to  see  a  tall,  well-built  man,  with 
sunburnt  face,  not  different  from  many  she  met  in 
the  street ;  but  something  about  him  attracted  her, 
especially  when  he  repeated  his  question,  "  if  Miss 
Elspeth  Elton  lived  anywhere  near." 

Hannah  had  hardly  wakened  out  of  the  dream 
into  which  her  walk  had  thrown  her,  with  all  its 
remembrances  of  all  the  years  of  her  life.  Instead 
of  answering,  she  stared  at  the  stranger,  and  said 
to  herself,  "  If  it  should  be  Stephen  !  " 

"  But  it  is  Stephen,"  was  the  answer.  u  Stephen 
O'Connor.  But  I'm  sure  I  can't  say  who  you  are, 
if  it  is  not  Hannah." 

He  was  interrupted  by  Hannah's  exclamations. 
Poor  Hannah  was  never  demonstrative.  She  had 
never  shown  in  her  face  any  feeling  that  warmed 


296  STKUGGLE   FOR   LIFE. 

below.  And  now  in  the  street,  with  an  unknown 
Stephen  before  her,  she  scarcely  knew  how  to 
bring  out  her  expressions  of  delight  and  joy,  her 
questionings  and  wonderings.  She  forgot  all  the 
weariness  of  her  walk,  of  her  long  life,  in  the 
crowning  pleasure  she  had  dreamed  of  and 
pictured  to  herself  through  these  many  years. 
She  was  passing  from  one  dream  of  life  into 
another,  into  a  happiness  she  neither  knew  how 
to  realize  or  to  express.  And  now  no  action  or 
color  or  words  came  to  Hannah  after  that  first 
utterance  of  surprise  in  the  reality  of  her  happi 
ness.  There  was  no  doubt  in  it  either,  for  though 
the  Stephen  that  stood  before  her  had  outgrown 
the  Steevie  of  six  years  ago  ;  though  the  reckless, 
ragged  boy  had  become  what  Hannah's  fastidious 
eyes  had  directly  perceived  to  be  "respectable" 
looking,  there  was  enough  of  the  old  manner  and 
voice  and  face  to  assure  her  that  her  brother  was 
not  lost,  —  that  he  had  indeed  comeback  again. 
Stephen's  words  did  not  falter. 

"  I  do  believe  it  is  Hannah,"  he  said.  "  But  you 
look  so  white  and  pale ;  you  can  hardly  stand  up. 
Just  sit  down  here  a  minute  ;  let  us  look  at  each 
other.  It  is  better  than  I  expected,  to  find  you  in 
the  same  place  all  the  time.  It  would  have  served 
me  right  if  I  had  lost  you  entirely.  It  is  Hannah, 
and  Hannah  grown  well-looking,  though  you  are  so 
pale,  and  happier  than  ever  you  looked  before.  I 
was  afraid  to  go  to  Board  Court ;  I  was  afraid  lest 


A    MEETING.  297 

I  should  find  you  in  the  old  place.  And  Bessie, 
I'm  afraid  to  ask  about  Bessie.  Don't  tell  me  yet 
about  her  if  it's  bad.  I  can't  hear  it." 

Hannah  had  seated  herself  on  a  stone  by  the 
wayside,  under  the  barberry  bushes,  the  blackberry 
vines  clambering  in  and  about  her  feet,  almost 
opposite  the  Lees'  house,  but  she  started  up  when 
Stephen  spoke  of  Bessie. 

"  I  must  take  you  to  her,"  she  exclaimed.  "  I 
must  not  keep  you  here.  I  believe  I  thought  I 
was  dreaming,  and  that  it  would  all  act  itself  out 
without  any  moving." 

Hannah  hastened  away  with  Stephen,  and  met  at 
Miss  Elspeth's  door  Bessie  and  Margie. 

"  Oh,  Hannah,"  Bessie  exclaimed,  "  we  were 
coming  to  see  if  it  were  true  that  you  had  got 
home.  And  how  could  you  go  away  without 
bidding  us  good-by  ?  But  what  is  the  matter  ? 
You  look  pale  and  sick,  and  happy,  and  crying 
too  !  Oh,  Miss  Elspeth,  come  here  ;  it  is  Hannah, 
and  I  cannot  tell  what  is  the  matter  with  her." 

Bessie  was  so  taken  up  with  Hannah  that  she 
could  scarcely  notice  her  companion.  But  Hannah 
succeeded  at  last  in  making  her  understand  who  it 
was.  After  she  understood,  it  was  some  minutes 
before  Bessie  could  welcome  in  the  grown-up  man 
before  her,  the  old  playfellow  she  could  never  quite 
forget;  but  at  last  she  threw  herself  into  his  arms 
with  sobbings  and  delight. 

Bessie  and -Margie  had  an  idea  that  Hannah  must 


298  STRUGGLE   FOB  LIFE. 

have  brought  Stephen  from  Niagara  or  New  York ; 
it  was  a  long  time  before  they  could  understand 
that  he  was  as  new  a  treasure  to  Hannah  as  he 
was  to  Bessie,  or  how  or  where  it  was  that  Hannah 
had  found  him. 

Through  the  summer  evening,  Bessie  sat  upon 
the  door-steps  listening  to  Stephen's  talk  as  he 
told  of  all  his  adventures?  how  he  had  come  home 
a  "carpenter,"  not  a  "nabob"  with  California 
gold,  of  his  narrow  escapes,  and  wonderful  stories 
about  the  sea.  Margie  sat  by  with  eyes  wide 
open  in  wonder  and  delight.  Hannah  listened,  too, 
for  a  while,  but  presently  went  in  to  talk  with  Miss 
Elspeth,  while  Miss  Dora  had  fallen  asleep  over  her 
knitting. 

"  I  want  to  ask  you  about  yourself,  Hannah," 
said  Miss  Elspeth.  "  You  went  away  so  hurriedly, 
and  Mrs.  Carlton  has  already  regretted  that  she  let 
you  go,  and  would  gladly  have  you  back  again. 
But  I  can't  regret  the  journey,  if  it  has  made  you 
look  so  fresh  and  well ;  or  is  it  Stephen's  return 
that  has  refreshed  you  so  ?  " 

"  It  is  neither,  it  is  neither,"  said  Hannah,  "  and 
it  is  that  I  want  to  tell  you.  It  all  conies  from  my 
walk  to  Boston  this  very  afternoon." 

"  You  walked  to  Boston ! "  exclaimed  Miss  Els 
peth.  "  It  is  not  possible  you  walked  all  that 
way." 

"  Ah,  I  did  more  than  that,"  said  Hannah.  And 
she  went  back  to  tell  all  the  distrust  and  ingrati- 


A    MEETING.  299 

tude  of  her  last  years,  all  the  hardness  of  her  heart, 
and  evil  suspicions.  She  told  as  well  as  she  could 
of  the  sudden  glimpse  into  her  old  life,  and  how  it 
had  wakened  her  into  a  feeling  of  what  she  had 
been,  —  of  what  she  owed  to  Miss  Elspeth. 

'*  I  came  back,"  she  said,  "  thinking  Bessie  and  I 
could  never  do  enough  if  we  gave  our  whole  lives 
to  you,  and  eager  to  work  all  my  life  long,  if  I  can 
only  do  some  of  the  good  you  have  done." 

Miss  Elspeth  listened,  wondering,  in  silence. 
She  had  never  looked  for  reward.  When  she 
began  her  work  she  had  never  looked  towards  its 
end.  She  was  one  of  those  workers  who  would 
never  have  asked  to  see  the  end.  She  liked  best 
that  work  whose  object  was  so  grand  that  its  end 
ing  fell  into  the  hands  of  God,  though  its  beginning 
was  small  enough  for  her  weak  energies.  Not  that 
she  evor  reasoned  so,  nor  knew  that  she  was  work 
ing  in  so  grand  a  way.  She  took  up  what  lay  near 
her  to  do,  because  it  was  her  work  and  she  would 
never  give  it  to  another.  That  night  she  could 
scarcely  close  her  eyes  for  this  wondrous  gratitude 
at  her  own  work.  She  loved  -Hannah  with  a  love 
different  from  that  she  felt  for  the  other  children. 
They  were  attractive  to  everybody,  and  won  their 
own  way ;  but  for  Hannah  she  had  longed  and 
waited.  She  had  found  it  hard  to  understand  her, 
and  for  this  reason  had  yearned  the  more  to  move 
her. 


CHAPTER    XXXV. 

HOME    AT    LAST. 

Miss  DOKA  was  a  little  suspicious  of  Stephen  at 
first.  When  he  left,  she  herself  locked  all  the 
doors.  She  did  not  like  the  idea  of  introducing  a 
new  man  into  the  house.  It  might  be  Stephen,  but 
then,  again,  it  might  not  be  ;  and  if  it  were  Ste 
phen,  what  ought  they  to  expect  of  him?  Her 
prejudices  were  gradually  removed  by  Stephen's 
constantly  respectful  air  and  deference,  and  by  the 
handiuess  that  he  displayed  in  sundry  little  pieces 
of  work  about  the  house.  It  was  settled  that 
Hannah  was  to  live  \vith  Stephen  in  Boston. 
Hannah  and  Bessie  easily  persuaded  him  that  it 
was  not  right  to  take  Bessie  from  Miss  Dora  and 
Miss  Elspeth.  Hannah  talked  with  Miss  Elspeth 
of  it. 

"  Stephen  will  not  listen  to  any  other  plan.  He 
is  willing  that  I  should  sew  to  help  him  earn 
his  living.  There  is  another  plan,  and  Stephen 
is  willing  to  help  it.  I  thought  of  it  that 
day  in  the  wood,  after  I  came  from  Boston.  I 
thought  all  my  life  long  I  would  work  for  those 


HOME   AT   LAST.  301 

poor  girls  wandering  in  the  streets.  If  I  could 
find  the  one  that  was  so  like  me,  that  I  saw  that 
day,  how  I  would  like  to  help  her.  I  shall  not 
have  such  a  home  aa  yours  to  bring  her  to.  I  am 
not  like  you.  I  cannot  show  her  what  goodness  is. 
But  I  can  take  her  or  some  child  out  of  a  sadder 
home.  You  will  help  me,  Miss  Amy  will  help  me. 
Perhaps,  because  I  have  been  so  near  those  poor 
ones  once,  I  may  know  how  to  help  them,  though  I 
am  so  little  in  myself." 

On  an  appointed  day,  Stephen  met  Bessie  and 
Hannah  at  the  station  and  led  them  to  his  house, — 
some  rooms  in  a  little,  quiet  street,  one  of  a  block 
newly  built.  Everything  was  neat  about  it,  the 
steps  and  the  stairway.  Hannah  opened  the  door 
of  the  front  room  and  started  to  find  it  all  fur 
nished.  She  had  partly  expected  this,  but  not  to 
find  such  a  finished,  comfortable  air  over  every 
thing.  She  was  still  more  surprised  when  Agnes 
and  Fred  Carlton  came  to  greet  her. 

"  Have  not  we  done  wonders?"  said  Agnes.  "  I 
can't  say  I  have  done  much.  But  one  day,  when  I 
was  coming  into  town,  I  found  Amy  was  concoct 
ing  this  plan,  and  I  could  not  help  having  a  hand 
in  it.  She  was  busy  enough  about  her  own  house, 
I  told  her,  and  I  asked  her  to  let  me  come  and 
arrange  it  with  her.  I  suppose  we  ought  to  be  out 
of  the  way  now,  while  you  look  round  on  your 
new  possessions ;  but  I  never  did  anything  before 
that  I  enjoyed  so  much ! " 


302  STRUGGLE  FOB  LIFE. 

"  Why,  how  beautiful  it  is  here  ! "  exclaimed 
Hannah.  "  And  Miss  Agnes,  you  helped  about 
this  ?  " 

"  You  know  I  never  do  much,"  said  Agnes.  "  I 
tried  this  time,  but  it  was  hard  work.  I  thought  I 
might  accomplish  some  sweeping,  and  took  up  the 
broom  one  day,  but  it  made  my  side  ache  so  that  I 
had  to  sit  down  again." 

Hannah  was  looking  round,  admiring  all  there 
was  in  the  room. 

"  Pray,  admire  the  carpet,"  said  Agnes.  "  That 
was  Mr.  Rothsay's  present.  Amy  was  coming  into 
town  to  select  it  the  day  I  met  her,  and  that  she 
told  me  of  her  plans.  So  I  went  with  her,  and  I 
do  believe  I  prevented  her  from  getting  one  of 
those  horrid  red  and  green  ones.  Amy  has  a  good 
taste,  but  she  had  an  idea  they  would  be  more  use 
ful.  Now,  look  at  Fred's  labors  in  putting  up 
those  bookshelves." 

"  Mr.  Fred  has  been  very  handy,"  said  Stephen. 

"  Oh,  we  have  had  a  famous  time,"  said  Agnes, 
seizing  Hannah  and  spinning  her  round  the  room 
and  seating  her  at  last  in  a  little  sewing-chair. 
"  That  is  Fred's  present,"  she  continued ;  "  and 
the  workbox  on  the  table  Tom  and  Jack  sent  you. 
Do  you  know  they  were  full  three  days  in  the 
woodhouse,  hammering  up  a  workbox  for  you 
with  shingles  and  nails,  which  they  thought  quite 
splendid?  But  when  papa  came  to  see  it,  he 
thought  it  would  not  do  for  you,  so  he  brought 


HOME    AT    LAST.  303 

them  into  town  and  took  them  to  a  shop,  to  pick 
out  the  prettiest  they  could  find.  And  this  was 
the  result.  A  little  gaudy,  perhaps,  but  valuable 
as  expressing  their  taste  !  " 

"  But  this  picture  by  the  table  here  !  "  exclaimed 
Hannah.  "  Why,  this  is  Miss  Amy  herself! " 

"  Ah,  yes,  you  can  see  George  Arnold's  hand  in 
that,"  said  Agnes. 

"  She  looks  as  I  have  seen  her  so  many  times," 
said  Hannah,  "  standing  on  the  doorstep." 

"  Yes ;  the  broom  in  her  hand  and  all,"  said  Ag 
nes.  "  Nobody  would  have  thought  of  that  but 
George  Arnold.  She  is  brushing  away  the  leaves 
from  the  piazza,  and  the  vines  across  the  pillars 
make  such  a  pretty  archway  for  the  picture  ! " 

There  was  a  sofa  Mr.  Carlton  had  sent  to  Han 
nah,  to  be  admired  and  praised.  The  pretty  round 
table  Agnes  had  contributed,  with  its  vase  of 
flowers. 

"  Now  look  into  your  cupboards,"  said  Agnes. 
"  See  how  nicely  Miss  Elspeth  has  filled  them ! " 

"  What  beautiful  china ! "  exclaimed  Hannah. 
"  Stephen,  what  shall  we  do  with  such  handsome 
things  ?  " 

"  And  this  famous  chest  of  tea,  George  Arnold 
brought  home,"  said  Agnes. 

"  And  my  store-closet  furnished  too  1  "  said  Han 
nah.  "  What  kind  friends  I  have  !  " 

In  her  own  bedroom  were  traces  of  Amy's  hands, 
in  the  white  window  curtains  and  the  pretty  work- 
table  she  had  left  for  Hannah. 


304  STRUGGLE   FOR   LIFE. 

Agnes  followed  Hannah  into  the  room  just  as 
she  was  looking  up  at  an  engraving  that  hung 
opposite  her  bed. 

"  That  beautiful  picture  too  !  "  she  said.  "  Oh, 
Miss  Agnes,  the  one  Miss  Bertha  loved  so  well ! " 

"  Yes,  Hannah,"  said  Agnes,  "  it  is  the  very  one 
that  used  to  hang  in  Bertha's  room.  I  thought  you 
would  like  to  have  it.  It  will  seem  to  you  like  a 
present  from  Bertha." 

"  Miss  Agnes,  it  is  so  kind  of  you.  You  are  so 
very  thoughtful,"  said  Hannah. 

"  You  had  not  expected  it  of  me,"  said  Agnes. 
*'  I  would  not  have  expected  it  of  myself.  Yet  1 
am  not  quite  ungrateful.  You  were  more  to  Ber 
tha  than  ever  I  was,  and  you  have  taught  me  a 
great  deal.  I  would  give  much  if  I  could  be  like 
you." 

"  Like  me  !  "  exclaimed  Hannah.  "  You  could 
not  wish  that !  " 

"  Oh  yes ;  you  know  how  to  work,  and  I  think 
there  must  be  pleasure  in  that,"  said  Agnes.  "  I 
believe  Bertha  used  to  think  it  would  be  a  very 
hard  lesson  for  me  to  learn  how  to  work.  And  it 
is  so.  My  thoughts  fly  about  in  so  many  different 
ways.  I  am  unsettled.  I  have  no  aim.  I  have 
had  greater  pleasure  here  than  I  ever  had  before. 
I  tried  to  think  what  Bertha  would  have  done  had 
she  been  here.  But  as  soon  as  I  compare  it  all 
with  her,  I  can  think  of  nothing  but  a  failure  1 " 

"  Oh,  dear,  Miss  Agnes,  not  so,"  said  Hannah. 


HOME   AT   LAST.  305 

"  It  was  such  a  very  great  pleasure  merely  to  see 
you  and  Mr.  Fred  here !  And  that  you  should 
have  thought  of  this  beautiful  picture  !  I  could 
love  nothing  more  than  this.  We  seem  to  see  the 
angels  that  bore  away  our  dear  Miss  Bertha." 

Agnes  hurried  away.  She  would  not  stay  any 
longer,  but  she  ran  back  to  tell  Hannah  she  should 
stop  there  often  to  give  her  some  valuable  hints 
upon  housekeeping,  and  to  help  her  if  she  were  in 
any  strait  about  her  sewing. 

Hannah  was  left  with  Bessie  and  Stephen,  to 
look  again  at  all  her  own  possessions,  and  exclaim 
again  with  gratitude.  There  were  the  books  that 
Frank  Rothsay  had  selected,  and  the  silver  spoons 
that  Mrs.  Strange  had  sent.  The  pretty  water 
pitcher  and  some  plaster  statuettes  were  the  gift 
of  Bessie,  Martha,  and  Margie.  They,  too,  had  per 
suaded  Miss  Elspeth  and  Miss  Dora  to  have  their 
daguerreotypes  taken  for  Hannah,  and  Ralph,  the 
cat,  was  also  introduced  into  the  picture.  It  had 
proved  as  difficult  to  get  Miss  Dora  to  the  daguer 
reotype  rooms  in  Langdale,  as  the  cat.  She  did 
not  like  daguerreotypes,  and  her  sourest  expres 
sion  was  transferred  to  the  plate.  Miss  Dora's 
gifts  were  found  in  the  store-closet. 

Miss  Elspeth,  Bessie,  Martha,  and  Margie  assem 
bled  at  Hannah's  house-warming,  which  was  cele 
brated  by  a  splendid  tea  m  her  new  home. 


20 


CHAPTER    XXXVI. 

AMY'S    LANDSCAPE. 

MRS.  BUNCE  was  very  much  shocked  that  Amy 
Rothsay  should  leave  Langdale  to  live  in  a  narrow- 
street  in  Boston.  Mrs.  Bunce  had  been  to  see  the 
house  Amy  was  to  live  in,  for  George  Arnold  had 
asked  her  one  day  when  she  went  into  town  with 
him  in  the  cars,  to  go  and  look  at  it.  It  was  a 
small  house,  and  there  was  a  row  of  brick  buildings 
in  front,  and  a  dead  brick  wall  behind  it.  To  be 
sure,  there  was  a  horse-chestnut  in  front  of  the 
doorway,  but  it  was  only  a  mockery  of  a  tree, 
growing  out  of  the  bricks,  and  Amy  all  her  life  had 
lived  in  the  garden  and  in  the  woods,  as  it  were, 
and  George  pretended  to  be  so  fond  of  sketching 
from  nature.  To  be  sure,  she  should  think  it  would 
be  easier  to  draw  houses  and  windows,  where  he 
could  rule  the  lines,  and  she  always  wondered 
anybody  would  try  to  draw  trees  when  there  was 
not  one  tree  like  another,  if  the  woods  were  ever 
so  large,  and  she  never  could  see  how  anybody 
could  think  of  putting  them  down  just  the  same  on 
paper.  But  then  George  and  some  other  painters 


AMY'S    LANDSCAPE.  307 

she  had  seen,  always  had  a  fancy  for  trying  to 
draw  trees  and  vines,  and  George  had  always 
insisted  she  should  keep  the  creeper  over  her  own 
porch,  though  it  had  grown  so  thick  now  that  it 
quite  darkened  her  front  room.  But  she  was  sure 
she  didn't  care  if  there  was  not  any  light  in  the 
front  room,  now  Amy  and  everybody  else  that  she 
wanted  to  see,  were  going  away  from  Langdale. 

Amy  herself  was  not  at  all  so  melancholy  about 
her  new  home.  There  was  sunlight  in  the  house, 
even  if  the  brick  walls  shut  it  out  so  closely.  The 
outside  of  the  house  was  like  all  the  rest  in  the 
block,  and  it  needed  George  Arnold's  name  on  the 
door  to  guide  the  most  intimate  friend  to  the  right 
entrance ;  but  once  inside,  there  was  no  doubt  to 
whom  it  was  to  belong.  Already  it  wore  an  indi 
vidual  air,  in  spite  of  the  plan  that  ruled  the  whole 
row  of  houses,  and  its  rooms  expressed  both  com 
fort  and  elegance. 

It  was  one  day  when  almost  the  last  finishing 
touch  had  been  given  to  the  pretty  rooms  that 
Hannah  drew  Amy  to  the  front  window. 

"  I  have  never  yet  told  you,"  she  said  to  Amy^ 
"  why  I  like  these  windows  of  yours.  If  you  look 
up  the  street  to  the  corner  opposite,  you  will  see 
the  place  where  I  first  met  Miss  Elspeth.  I 
remember  perfectly  how  I  stood  shivering  there, 
lingering  in  the  cold,  before  I  should  go  to  my 
cheerless  home.  In  front  of  Miss  Elspeth,  came 
along  a  lady  very  handsomely  dressed.  She  at- 


308  STRUGGLE   FOR   LIFE. 

tracted  me,  and  at  first  I  meant  to  speak  to  her. 
She  wore  so  many  satins  and  furs,  I  thought  she 
must  have  a  great  deal  of  money.  I  was  going 
forward  to  speak  to  her  when  I  saw  Miss  Elspeth 
just  behind.  There  was  something  about  her  face 
that  looked  gentle  and  kind.  Oh !  you  cannot 
think  in  those  days  how  we  learned  to  study  faces. 
I  did  not  think  of  Miss  Elspeth's  dress.  I  only 
saw  she  looked  as  though  she  could  not  answer  me 
harshly,  and  so  I  spoke  to  her.  That  first  lady, 
dressed  in  the  satins  and  furs,  Miss  Amy,  was  Mrs. 
Pax  ton,  so  I  knew  afterwards,  for  I  had  never 
forgotten  her  face.  And  if  I  had  asked  her  for 
help,  oh,  think  of  it !  she  would  have  turned  me 
away,  —  I  should  have  lost  my  chance  of  speaking 
to  Miss  Elspeth.  I  know  Mrs.  Paxton  would  not 
have  listened  to  me,  and  she  might  have  given  me 
hard  words.  Those  hard  words  would  have  sent 
me  back  into  my  old  life,  —  into  that  life  that  I 
loved  in  those  days,  but  out  of  which  I  never 
could  have  lifted  myself.  I  know  how  stern,  how 
severe  she  is,  and  she  would  have  made  me  harder 
and  colder  than  I  was  before." 

"  Stop  a  moment,"  said  Amy,  smiling ;  "  you 
are  talking  in  the  way  you  used  to  go  on.  Think 
of  the  kind  words  that  have  been  spoken  to  you." 

"It  is  those  words  I  am  thinking  of,  indeed," 
said  Hannah;  "but  how  can  I  help  shuddering 
when  I  think  what  a  difference  just  those  few 
words  might  have  made  in  me.  Even  a  kind  word 


AMY'S    LANDSCAPE.  309 

might  have  helped  me  then.  Miss  Elspeth  gave 
me  much  more,  but  in  those  days  gentle  words  did 
soften  me.  It  was  the  hard  treatment  I  received 
that  helped  to  make  me  hard.  I  remember  when 
I  was  quite  young,  I  was  more  like  Bessie  when 
she  was  a  child.  I  did  not  care  what  came  the 
next  day  or  the  next  hour.  I  laughed  at  the  gay 
sights  I  saw  in  the  street,  and  was  full  of  joy  on 
those  days  that  I  had  more  food  to  eat  than  others. 
One  day  I  remember  I  stood  in  the  street  by  a 
carriage  door  to  watch  a  lady  who  was  getting 
out  from  the  carriage  with  her  two  children.  I 
watched  them  as  one  does  a  pretty  sight.  I  liked 
to  see  their  gay  clothing.  I  did  not.  think  at  all 
that  I  was  a  child  like  them,  nor  regret  that  I  had 
not  their  fine  clothes.  But  suddenly  I  was  roused 
by  the  lady's  voice.  l  Child,  what  are  you  standing 
there  idling  for?'  Suddenly  I  grew  angry;  I 
turned  away,  but  wondered  why  it  was  these 
children  should  be  dressed  so  gayly,  and  fed  so 
carefully,  while  I  was  left  to  wander  in  the  streets, 
and  might  not  even  stand  to  look  upon  their 
finery." 

"  But  you  were  not  left  to  wander  quite  alone," 
said  Amy. 

"  I  might  not  have  been  a  better  child,  Miss 
Amy,"  continued  Hannah,  "  if  I  had  lived  such  a 
life  as  those  children  whom  I  envied.  I  could 
never  have  been  better  taught  than  by  good  Miss 
Elspeth." 


310  STEUGGLE   FOR  LIFE. 

"  There  was  One  who  cared  for  you,  and  who 
led  so  good  a  friend  to  you,"  said  Amy.  "  What 
a  moment,  indeed,  it  was  that  changed  your  life. 
How  glad  I  am  that  my  windows  look  upon  so 
pleasant  a  spot.  Mrs.  Bunce  need  not  be  anxious 
about  my  landscape.  I  have  found  one  charm  in 
it  already." 

"  You  will  make  many  such  sunny  places,"  said 
Hannah,  laughing,  "  all  through  Boston,  while  you 
live  here,  Miss  Amy." 

"  You  and  I  together,  Hannah,"  said  Amy ;  "  we 
will  do  our  best." 

It  was  an  encouragement  of  this  resolution  that 
Mr.  Jasper  spoke,  when  he  came  to  Amy's  new 
home.  "  I  have  seen  some  households,"  he  said, 
"  that  stand  like  a  centre  for  many  planets.  All 
the  members  of  it  revolve  around  in  their  little 
duties,  noiselessly  and  easily,  and  presently  their 
quiet,  even  motion  is  felt  beyond  their  small  circle, 
and  it  harmonizes  many  wandering  bodies  that 
would  seem  beyond  its  reach,  and  many  erratic 
planets,  comets  that  have  a  wide  orbit,  come 
within  its  influence.  All  this  time  the  little  sys 
tem  is  keeping  on  its  course  round  the  great 
central  sun,  performing  its  part  of  the  grand  law 
that  ages  must  complete.  All  these  words  mean 
that  the  little  households  whose  members  truly 
perform  their  part  have  a  wide  influence,  farther 
than  they  know  or  are  aware  of.  If  they  only 
keep  to  their  own  centre,  going  on  with  an  even, 


AMY'S    LANDSCAPE.  311 

equal  motion,  they  become  themselves  the  centre 
and  support  of  others.  I  say  I  know  many  such 
homes  that  give  out  warmth  and  light  beyond 
their  firesides,  and  work  more  good  than  many 
great  conventions  and  large  assemblies.  And  this 
I  believe  will  be  one,  for  it  begins  with  the  spirit 
of  love." 

This  was  Mr.  Jasper's  benediction  upon  Amy's 
home,  and  Hannah  felt  that  he  meant  it  for  her,  too, 
for  he  looked  kindly  to  her,  and  spoke  encouraging 
words  to  her.  So  when  she  went  back  into  her 
own  home,  she  felt  that  however  humble  it  might 
be,  it  could  still  have  some  of  that  power  of  which 
Mr.  Jasper  spoke.  Miss  Elspeth  had  saved  her, 
not  with  money,  or  by  great  influence,  but  by  the 
power  of  her  own  good-will,  and  Hannah  prayed 
for  that  kindly  heart  that  might  lead  her  to  help 
others.  She  felt  that  into  her  room  came  the  spirit 
of  Bertha  to  help  her,  with  the  memory  of  Bertha's 
loving  and  beautiful  life.  And  she  counted  up  the 
many  living  friends  who  stood  near  her  to  counsel 
and  support  her.  For  she  needed  support  when 
she  looked  out  into  the  streets  and  saw  so  many 
wanderers  needing  more  than  a  home,  and  she  felt 
herself  so  small  for  so  great  a  work.  Her  only 
thought  was,  "Ah,  if  there  were  more  Miss 
Elspeths ! " 


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